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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:45:03 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:45:03 -0700 |
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diff --git a/14662-h/14662-h.htm b/14662-h/14662-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b10657b --- /dev/null +++ b/14662-h/14662-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9506 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Around the Tea-Table, by T. De Witt Talmage + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + + img {border: none;} + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:15%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + + td.tdrt {text-align: right;} + td.lti {text-indent: 1pc;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14662 ***</div> + +<h1>AROUND THE TEA-TABLE.</h1> + + +<div class="center"> +<a name='title' id='title'></a> +<img src="images/title.jpg" +alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>BY T. DE WITT TALMAGE,</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Author of "Crumbs Swept Up," "Abominations of Modern Society," "Old +Wells Dug Out," Etc.</i></p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p class="center">PUBLISHED BY<br /> +THE CHRISTIAN HERALD,<br /> +LOUIS KLOPSCH, Proprietor,<br /> +BIBLE HOUSE, NEW YORK.</p> + +<div><br /></div> + +<p class="center">BY LOUIS KLOPSCH.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE" /><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11" />PREFACE.</h2> + + +<p>At breakfast we have no time to spare, for the duties of the day are +clamoring for attention; at the noon-day dining hour some of the family +are absent; but at six o'clock in the evening we all come to the +tea-table for chit-chat and the recital of adventures. We take our +friends in with us—the more friends, the merrier. You may imagine that +the following chapters are things said or conversations indulged in, or +papers read, or paragraphs, made up from that interview. We now open the +doors very wide and invite all to come in and be seated around the +tea-table.</p> + +<p>T. DEW. T.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS" /><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13" />CONTENTS.</h2> + +<div><br /></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 10%;"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="2" width="70%" summary="Table of Contents"> + <tr> + <td style="width: 40%;"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></td> + <td style="width: 60%;">The table-cloth is spread</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></td> + <td>Mr. Givemfits and Dr. Butterfield</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></td> + <td>A growler soothed</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></td> + <td>Carlo and the freezer</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></td> + <td>Old games repeated</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></td> + <td>The full-blooded cow</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></td> + <td>The dregs in Leatherback's tea-cup</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td> + <td>The hot axle</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></td> + <td>Beefsteak for ministers</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></td> + <td>Autobiography of an old pair of scissors</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></td> + <td>A lie, zoologically considered</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></td> + <td>A breath of English air</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></td> + <td>The midnight lecture</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a></td> + <td>The sexton</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a></td> + <td>The old cradle</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a></td> + <td>The horse's letter</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a></td> + <td>Kings of the kennel</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></td> + <td>The massacre of church music</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a></td> + <td>The battle of pew and pulpit</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</a></td> + <td>The devil's grist-mill</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</a></td> + <td>The conductor's dream</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</a></td> + <td>Push & Pull</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></td> + <td>Bostonians</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></td> + <td>Jonah vs. the whale</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.</a></td> + <td>Something under the sofa</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.</a></td> + <td>The way to keep fresh</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.</a></td> + <td>Christmas bells</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a></td> + <td>Poor preaching</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX.</a></td> + <td>Shelves a man's index</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX.</a></td> + <td>Behavior at church</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI.</a></td> + <td>Masculine and feminine</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII.</a></td> + <td>Literary felony</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII.</a></td> + <td>Literary abstinence</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV.</a></td> + <td>Short or long pastorates</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV.</a></td> + <td>An editor's chip basket</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI.</a></td> + <td>The manhood of service</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII.</a></td> + <td>Balky people</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</a></td> + <td>Anonymous letters</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX.</a></td> + <td>Brawn or brain</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL.</a></td> + <td>Warm-weather religion</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI.</a></td> + <td>Hiding eggs for Easter</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII.</a></td> + <td>Sink or swim</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIII">CHAPTER XLIII.</a></td> + <td>Shells from the beach</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIV">CHAPTER XLIV.</a></td> + <td>Catching the bay mare</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XLV">CHAPTER XLV.</a></td> + <td>Our first and last cigar</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVI">CHAPTER XLVI.</a></td> + <td>Move, moving, moved</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVII">CHAPTER XLVII.</a></td> + <td>The advantage of small libraries</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVIII">CHAPTER XLVIII.</a></td> + <td>Reformation in letter writing</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIX">CHAPTER XLIX.</a></td> + <td>Royal marriages</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_L">CHAPTER L.</a></td> + <td>Three visits</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_LI">CHAPTER LI.</a></td> + <td>Manahachtanienks</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_LII">CHAPTER LII.</a></td> + <td>A dip in the sea</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_LIII">CHAPTER LIII.</a></td> + <td>Hard shell considerations</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_LIV">CHAPTER LIV.</a></td> + <td>Wiseman, Heavyasbricks and Quizzle</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_LV">CHAPTER LV.</a></td> + <td>A layer of waffles</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_LVI">CHAPTER LVI.</a></td> + <td>Friday evening</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="2" style="line-height: 2em;"> + + <a href="#SABBATH_EVENING">SABBATH EVENING TEA-TABLE.</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_LVIII">CHAPTER LVIII.</a></td> + <td>The Sabbath evening tea-table</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_LIX">CHAPTER LIX.</a></td> + <td>The warm heart of Christ</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_LX">CHAPTER LX.</a></td> + <td>Sacrifice everything</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_LXI">CHAPTER LXI.</a></td> + <td>The youngsters have left</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_LXII">CHAPTER LXII.</a></td> + <td>Family prayers</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_LXIII">CHAPTER LXIII.</a></td> + <td>A call to sailors</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_LXIV">CHAPTER LXIV.</a></td> + <td>Jehoshaphat's shipping</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_LXV">CHAPTER LXV.</a></td> + <td>All about mercy</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_LXVI">CHAPTER LXVI.</a></td> + <td>Under the camel's saddle</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_LXVII">CHAPTER LXVII.</a></td> + <td>Half-and-half churches</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_LXVIII">CHAPTER LXVIII.</a></td> + <td>Who touched me?</td> + </tr> + </table> + +</div> + +<div><br /></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>AROUND THE TEA-TABLE.</h1> +<p><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17" /></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I" />CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">THE TABLE-CLOTH IS SPREAD.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Our theory has always been, "Eat lightly in the evening." While, +therefore, morning and noon there is bountifulness, we do not have much +on our tea-table but dishes and talk. The most of the world's work ought +to be finished by six o'clock p.m. The children are home from school. +The wife is done mending or shopping. The merchant has got through with +dry-goods or hardware. Let the ring of the tea-bell be sharp and +musical. Walk into the room fragrant with Oolong or Young Hyson. Seat +yourself at the tea-table wide enough apart to have room to take out +your pocket-handkerchief if you want to cry at any pitiful story of the +day, or to spread yourself in laughter if some one propound an +irresistible conundrum.</p> + +<p>The bottle rules the sensual world, but the tea-cup is queen in all the +fair dominions. Once this leaf was very rare, and fifty dollars a pound; +and when the East India Company made a present to the king of two pounds +and two ounces, it was considered worth a mark in history. But now Uncle +Sam and his wife every year pour thirty million pounds of it into their +saucers. Twelve <a name="Page_18" id="Page_18" />hundred years ago, a Chinese scholar by the name of Lo +Yu wrote of tea, "It tempers the spirits and harmonizes the mind, +dispels lassitude and relieves fatigue, awakens thought and prevents +drowsiness, lightens and refreshes the body, and clears the perceptive +faculties." Our own observation is that there is nothing that so loosens +the hinge of the tongue, soothes the temper, exhilarates the diaphragm, +kindles sociality and makes the future promising. Like one of the small +glasses in the wall of Barnum's old museum, through which you could see +cities and mountains bathed in sunshine, so, as you drink from the +tea-cup, and get on toward the bottom so that it is sufficiently +elevated, you can see almost anything glorious that you want to. We had +a great-aunt who used to come from town with the pockets of her +bombazine dress standing way out with nice things for the children, but +she would come in looking black as a thunder cloud until she had got +through with her first cup of tea, when she would empty her right pocket +of sugarplums, and having finished her second cup would empty the other +pocket, and after she had taken an extra third cup, because she felt so +very chilly, it took all the sitting-room and parlor and kitchen to +contain her exhilaration.</p> + +<p>Be not surprised if, after your friends are seated at the table, the +style of the conversation depends very much on the kind of tea that the +housewife pours for the guests. If it be genuine Young Hyson, the leaves +of which are gathered early in the season, the talk will be fresh, and +spirited, and sunshiny. If it be what the Chinese call Pearl tea, but +our merchants have named Gunpowder, the conversation will be explosive, +and somebody's reputation will be killed before you get through. If it +be green tea, prepared by large infusion of Prussian blue and gypsum, or +black <a name="Page_19" id="Page_19" />tea mixed with pulverized black lead, you may expect there will +be a poisonous effect in the conversation and the moral health damaged. +The English Parliament found that there had come into that country two +million pounds of what the merchants call "lie tea," and, as far as I +can estimate, about the same amount has been imported into the United +States; and when the housewife pours into the cups of her guests a +decoction of this "lie tea," the group are sure to fall to talking about +their neighbors, and misrepresenting everything they touch. One meeting +of a "sewing society" up in Canada, where this tea was served, resulted +in two law-suits for slander, four black eyes that were not originally +of that color, the expulsion of the minister, and the abrupt removal +from the top of the sexton's head of all capillary adornment.</p> + +<p>But on our tea-table we will have first-rate Ningyong, or Pouchong, or +Souchong, or Oolong, so that the conversation may be pure and healthy.</p> + +<p>We propose from time to time to report some of the talk of our visitors +at the tea-table. We do not entertain at tea many very great men. The +fact is that great men at the tea-table for the most part are a bore. +They are apt to be self-absorbed, or so profound I cannot understand +them, or analytical of food, or nervous from having studied themselves +half to death, or exhume a piece of brown bread from their coat-tail +because they are dyspeptic, or make such solemn remarks about +hydro-benzamide or sulphindigotic acid that the children get frightened +and burst out crying, thinking something dreadful is going to happen. +Learned Johnson, splashing his pompous wit over the table for Boswell to +pick up, must have been a sublime nuisance. It was said of Goldsmith +that "he wrote like an angel and talked like poor<a name="Page_20" id="Page_20" /> Poll." There is more +interest in the dining-room when we have ordinary people than when we +have extraordinary.</p> + +<p>There are men and women who occasionally meet at our tea-table whose +portraits are worth taking. There are Dr. Butterfield, Mr. Givemfits, +Dr. Heavyasbricks, Miss Smiley and Miss Stinger, who come to see us. We +expect to invite them all to tea very soon; and as you will in future +hear of their talk, it is better that I tell you now some of their +characteristics.</p> + +<p>Dr. Butterfield is one of our most welcome visitors at the tea-table. As +his name indicates, he is both melting and beautiful. He always takes +pleasant views of things. He likes his tea sweet; and after his cup is +passed to him, he frequently hands it back, and says, "This is really +delightful, but a little more sugar, if you please." He has a mellowing +effect upon the whole company. After hearing him talk a little while, I +find tears standing in my eyes without any sufficient reason. It is +almost as good as a sermon to see him wipe his mouth with a napkin. I +would not want him all alone to tea, because it would be making a meal +of sweetmeats. But when he is present with others of different +temperament, he is entertaining. He always reminds me of the dessert +called floating island, beaten egg on custard. On all +subjects—political, social and religious—he takes the smooth side. He +is a minister, and preached a course of fifty-one sermons on heaven in +one year, saying that he would preach on the last and fifty-second +Sunday concerning a place of quite opposite character; but the audience +assembling on that day, in August, he rose and said that it was too hot +to preach, and so dismissed them immediately with a benediction. At the +tea-table I never could persuade him to take any currant-jelly, for he +<a name="Page_21" id="Page_21" />always preferred strawberry-jam. He rejects acidity.</p> + +<p>We generally place opposite him at the tea-table Mr. Givemfits. He is +the very antipodes of Dr. Butterfield; and when the two talk, you get +both sides of a subject. I have to laugh to hear them talk; and my +little girl, at the controversial collisions, gets into such hysterics +that we have to send her with her mouth full into the next room, to be +pounded on the back to stop her from choking. My friend Givemfits is +"down on" almost everything but tea, and I think one reason of his +nervous, sharp, petulant way is that he takes too much of this beverage. +He thinks the world is very soon coming to an end, and says, "The sooner +the better, confound it!" He is a literary man, a newspaper writer, a +book critic, and so on; but if he were a minister, he would preach a +course of fifty-one sermons on "future punishment," proposing to preach +the fifty-second and last Sabbath on "future rewards;" but the last +Sabbath, coming in December, he would say to his audience, "Really, it +is too cold to preach. We will close with the doxology and omit the +benediction, as I must go down by the stove to warm."</p> + +<p>He does not like women—thinks they are of no use in the world, save to +set the tea a-drawing. Says there was no trouble in Paradise till a +female came there, and that ever since Adam lost the rib woman has been +to man a bad pain in the side. He thinks that Dr. Butterfield, who sits +opposite him at the tea-table, is something of a hypocrite, and asks him +all sorts of puzzling questions. The fact is, it is vinegar-cruet +against sugar-bowl in perpetual controversy. I do not blame Givemfits as +much as many do. His digestion is poor. The chills and fever enlarged +his spleen. He has frequent attacks of neuralgia. Once a week he <a name="Page_22" id="Page_22" />has +the sick headache. His liver is out of order. He has twinges of +rheumatism. Nothing he ever takes agrees with him but tea, and that +doesn't. He has had a good deal of trial, and the thunder of trouble has +soured the milk of human kindness. When he gets criticising Dr. +Butterfield's sermons and books, I have sometimes to pretend that I hear +somebody at the front door, so that I can go out in the hall and have an +uproarious laugh without being indecorous. It is one of the great +amusements of my life to have on opposite sides of my tea-table Dr. +Butterfield and Mr. Givemfits.</p> + +<p>But we have many others who come to our tea-table: Miss Smiley, who +often runs in about six o'clock. All sweetness is Miss Smiley. She seems +to like everybody, and everybody seems to like her. Also Miss Stinger, +sharp as a hornet, prides herself on saying things that cut; dislikes +men; cannot bear the sight of a pair of boots; loathes a shaving +apparatus; thinks Eve would have shown better capacity for housekeeping +if she had, the first time she used her broom, swept Adam out of +Paradise. Besides these ladies, many good, bright, useful and sensible +people of all kinds. In a few days we shall invite a group of them to +tea, and you shall hear some of their discussions of men and books and +things. We shall order a canister of the best Young Hyson, pull out the +extension-table, hang on the kettle, stir the blaze, and with chamois +and silver-powder scour up the tea-set that we never use save when we +have company.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II" /><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23" />CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">MR. GIVEMFITS AND DR. BUTTERFIELD.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>The tea-kettle never sang a sweeter song than on the evening I speak of. +It evidently knew that company was coming. At the appointed time our two +friends, Dr. Butterfield and Mr. Givemfits, arrived. As already +intimated, they were opposite in temperament—the former mild, mellow, +fat, good-natured and of fine digestion, always seeing the bright side +of anything; the other, splenetic, harsh, and when he swallowed anything +was not sure whether he would be the death of it, or it would be the +death of him.</p> + +<p>No sooner had they taken their places opposite each other at the table +than conversation opened. As my wife was handing the tea over to Mr. +Givemfits the latter broke out in a tirade against the weather. He said +that this winter was the most unbearable that had ever been known in the +almanacs. When it did not rain, it snowed; and when it was not mud, it +was sleet. At this point he turned around and coughed violently, and +said that in such atmosphere it was impossible to keep clear of colds. +He thought he would go South. He would rather not live at all than live +in such a climate as this. No chance here, save for doctors and +undertakers, and even they have to take their own medicines and lie in +their own coffins. At this Dr. Butterfield gave a good-natured laugh, +and said, "I admit the inconveniences of the weather; but are you not +aware that there has been a drought for three years in the country, and +great suffering in the land for lack of rain? We need all this wet +weather to make an equi<a name="Page_24" id="Page_24" />librium. What is discomfort to you is the wealth +of the land. Besides that, I find that if I cannot get sunshine in the +open air I can carry it in the crown of my hat. He who has a warm coat, +and a full stove, and a comfortable house, ought not to spend much of +his time in complaint."</p> + +<p>Miss Smiley slid this moment into the conversation with a hearty "Ha! +ha!" She said, "This last winter has been the happiest of my life. I +never hear the winds gallop but I want to join them. The snow is only +the winter in blossom. Instead of here and there on the pond, the whole +country is covered with white lilies. I have seen gracefulness enough in +the curve of a snowdrift to keep me in admiration for a week. Do you +remember that morning after the storm of sleet, when every tree stood in +mail of ice, with drawn sword of icicle? Besides, I think the winter +drives us in, and drives us together. We have never had such a time at +our house with checker-boards and dominoes, and blind-man's-buff, and +the piano, as this winter. Father and mother said it seemed to them like +getting married over again. Besides that, on nights when the storm was +so great that the door-bell went to bed and slept soundly, Charles +Dickens stepped in from Gad's Hill; and Henry W. Longfellow, without +knocking, entered the sitting-room, his hair white as if he had walked +through the snow with his hat off; and William H. Prescott, with his +eyesight restored, happened in from Mexico, a cactus in his buttonhole; +and Audubon set a cage of birds on the table—Baltimore oriole, +chaffinch, starling and bobolink doing their prettiest; and Christopher +North thumped his gun down on the hall floor, and hung his 'sporting +jacket' on the hat-rack, and shook the carpet brown with Highland +heather. As Walter Scott came in his dog scampered in after him, and put +<a name="Page_25" id="Page_25" />both paws up on the marble-top table; and Minnie asked the old man why +he did not part his hair better, instead of letting it hang all over his +forehead, and he apologized for it by the fact that he had been on a +long tramp from Melrose Abbey to Kenilworth Castle. But I think as +thrilling an evening as we had this winter was with a man who walked in +with a prison-jacket, his shoes mouldy, and his cheek pallid for the +want of the sunlight. He was so tired that he went immediately to sleep. +He would not take the sofa, saying he was not used to that, but he +stretched himself on the floor and put his head on an ottoman. At first +he snored dreadfully, and it was evident he had a horrid dream; but +after a while he got easier, and a smile came over his face, and he woke +himself singing and shouting. I said, 'What is the matter with you, and +what were you dreaming about?' 'Well,' he said, 'the bad dream I had was +about the City of Destruction, and the happy dream was about the +Celestial City;' and we all knew him right away, and shouted, 'Glorious +old John Bunyan! How is Christiana?' So, you see," said Miss Smiley, "on +stormy nights we really have a pleasanter time than when the moon and +stars are reigning."</p> + +<p>Miss Stinger had sat quietly looking into her tea-cup until this moment, +when she clashed her spoon into the saucer, and said, "If there is any +thing I dislike, it is an attempt at poetry when you can't do it. I know +some people who always try to show themselves in public; but when they +are home, they never have their collar on straight, and in the morning +look like a whirlwind breakfasting on a haystack. As for me, I am +practical, and winter is winter, and sleet is sleet, and ice is ice, and +a tea-cup is a tea-cup; and if you will pass mine up to the hostess to +be resupplied, I <a name="Page_26" id="Page_26" />will like it a great deal better than all this +sentimentalism. No sweetening, if you please. I do not like things +sweet. Do not put in any of your beautiful snow for sugar, nor stir it +with an icicle."</p> + +<p>This sudden jerk in the conversation snapped it off, and for a moment +there was quiet. I knew not how to get conversation started again. Our +usual way is to talk about the weather; but that subject had been +already exhausted.</p> + +<p>Suddenly I saw the color for the first time in years come into the face +of Mr. Givemfits. The fact was that, in biting a hard crust of bread, he +had struck a sore tooth which had been troubling him, and he broke out +with the exclamation, "Dr. Butterfield, the physical and moral world is +degenerating. Things get worse and worse. Look, for instance, at the +tone of many of the newspapers; gossip, abuse, lies, blackmail, make up +the chief part of them, and useful intelligence is the exception. The +public have more interest in murders and steamboat explosions than in +the items of mental and spiritual progress. Church and State are covered +up with newspaper mud."</p> + +<p>"Stop!" said Dr. Butterfield. "Don't you ever buy newspapers?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III" /><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27" />CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">A GROWLER SOOTHED.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Givemfits said to Dr. Butterfield, "You asked me last evening if I ever +bought newspapers. I reply, Yes, and write for them too.</p> + +<p>"But I see their degeneracy. Once you could believe nearly all they +said; now he is a fool who believes a tenth part of it. There is the New +York 'Scandalmonger,' and the Philadelphia 'Prestidigitateur,' and the +Boston 'Prolific,' which do nothing but hoodwink and confound the public +mind. Ten dollars will get a favorable report of a meeting, or as much +will get it caricatured. There is a secret spring behind almost every +column. It depends on what the editor had for supper the night before +whether he wants Foster hung or his sentence commuted. If the literary +man had toast and tea, as weak as this before me, he sleeps soundly, and +next day says in his columns that Foster ought not to be executed; he is +a good fellow, and the clergymen who went to Albany to get him pardoned +were engaged in a holy calling, and their congregations had better hold +fast of them lest they go up like Elijah. But if the editor had a supper +at eleven, o'clock at night of scallops fried in poor lard, and a little +too much bourbon, the next day he is headachy, and says Foster, the +scalawag, ought to be hung, or beaten to death with his own car-hook, +and the ministers who went to Albany to get him pardoned might better +have been taking tea with some of the old ladies. I have been behind the +scenes and know all about it, and must admit that I have done some of +the bad work <a name="Page_28" id="Page_28" />myself. I have on my writing-stand thirty or forty books +to discuss as a critic, and the column must be made up. Do you think I +take time to read the thirty or forty books? No. I first take a dive +into the index, a second dive into the preface, a third dive into the +four hundredth page, the fourth dive into the seventieth page, and then +seize my pen and do up the whole job in fifteen minutes. I make up my +mind to like the book or not to like it, according as I admire or +despise the author. But the leniency or severity of my article depends +on whether the room is cold and my rheumatism that day is sharp or easy. +Speaking of these things reminds me that the sermon which the Right +Reverend Bishop Goodenough preached last Sunday, on 'Growth in Grace,' +was taken down and brought to our office by a reporter who fell over the +door-sill of the sanctum so drunk we had to help him up and fish in his +pockets for the bishop's sermon on holiness of heart and life, which we +were sure was somewhere about him."</p> + +<p>"Tut! tut!" cried Dr. Butterfield. "I think, Mr. Givemfits, you are +entirely mistaken. (The doctor all the while stirring the sugar in his +cup.) I think the printing-press is a mighty agency for the world's +betterment. If I were not a minister, I would be an editor. There are +Bohemians in the newspaper profession, as in all others, but do not +denounce the entire apostleship for the sake of one Judas. Reporters, as +I know them, are clever fellows, worked almost to death, compelled to +keep unseasonable hours, and have temptations to fight which few other +occupations endure. Considering the blunders and indistinctness of the +public speaker, I think they get things wonderfully accurate. The +speaker murders the king's English, and is mad because the reporter +cannot resuscitate the corpse. I once made a speech at <a name="Page_29" id="Page_29" />an ice-cream +festival amid great embarrassments, and hemmed, and hawed, and +expectorated cotton from my dry mouth, and sweat like a Turkish bath, +the adjectives, and the nouns, and verbs, and prepositions of my address +keeping an Irish wake; but the next day, in the 'Johnstown Advocate,' my +remarks read as gracefully as Addison's 'Spectator.' I knew a +phonographer in Washington whose entire business it was to weed out from +Congressmen's speeches the sins against Anglo-Saxon; but the work was +too much for him, and he died of delirium tremens, from having drank too +much of the wine of syntax, in his ravings imagining that +'interrogations' were crawling over him like snakes, and that +'interjections' were thrusting him through with daggers and 'periods' +struck him like bullets, and his body seemed torn apart by disjunctive +conjunctions. No, Mr. Givemfits, you are too hard. And as to the +book-critics whom you condemn, they do more for the circulation of books +than any other class, especially if they denounce and caricature, for +then human nature will see the book at any price. After I had published +my book on 'The Philosophy of Civilization,' it was so badgered by the +critics and called so many hard names that my publishers could not print +it fast enough to meet the demands of the curious. Besides, what would +we do without the newspaper? With, the iron rake of the telegraph it +draws the whole world to our door every morning. The sermon that the +minister preached to five hundred people on Sabbath the newspaper next +day preaches to fifty thousand. It takes the verses which the poet +chimed in his small room of ten feet by six, and rings them into the +ears of the continent. The cylinder of the printing-press is to be one +of the wheels of the Lord's chariot. The good newspapers will overcome +the bad ones, and the <a name="Page_30" id="Page_30" />honey-bees will outnumber the hornets. Instead of +the three or four religious newspapers that once lived on gruel and pap, +sitting down once a week on some good man's door-step to rest, thankful +if not kicked off, now many of the denominations have stalwart journals +that swing their scythe through the sins of the world, and are avant +couriers of the Lord's coming."</p> + +<p>As Dr. Butterfield concluded this sentence his face shone like a harvest +moon. We had all dropped our knives, and were looking at him. The Young +Hyson tea was having its mollifying effect on the whole company. Mr. +Givemfits had made way with his fourth cup (they were small cups, the +set we use for company), and he was entirely soothed and moderated in +his opinions about everything, and actually clapped his hands at Dr. +Butterfield's peroration. Even Miss Stinger was in a glow, for she had +drank large quantities of the fragrant beverage while piping hot, and in +her delight she took Givemfits' arm, and asked him if he ever meant to +get married. Miss Smiley smiled. Then Dr. Butterfield lifted his cup, +and proposed a toast which we all drank standing: "The mission of the +printing-press! The salubrity of the climate! The prospects ahead! The +wonders of Oolong and Young Hyson!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV" /><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31" />CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">CARLO AND THE FREEZER.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>We had a jolly time at our tea-table this evening. We had not seen our +old friend for ten years. When I heard his voice in the hall, it seemed +like a snatch of "Auld Lang Syne." He came from Belleville, where was +the first home we ever set up for ourselves. It was a stormy evening, +and we did not expect company, but we soon made way for him at the +table. Jennie was very willing to stand up at the corner; and after a +fair napkin had been thrown over the place where she had dropped a speck +of jelly, our friend and I began the rehearsal of other days. While I +was alluding to a circumstance that occurred between me and one of my +Belleville neighbors the children cried out with stentorian voice, "Tell +us about Carlo and the freezer;" and they kicked the leg of the table, +and beat with both hands, and clattered the knives on the plate, until I +was compelled to shout, "Silence! You act like a band of Arabs! Frank, +you had better swallow what you have in your mouth before you attempt to +talk." Order having been gained, I began:</p> + +<p>We sat in the country parsonage, on a cold winter day, looking out of +our back window toward the house of a neighbor. She was a model of +kindness, and a most convenient neighbor to have. It was a rule between +us that when either house was in want of anything it should borrow of +the other. The rule worked well for the parsonage, but rather badly for +the neighbor, because on our side of the fence we had just begun to +<a name="Page_32" id="Page_32" />keep house, and needed to borrow everything, while we had nothing to +lend, except a few sermons, which the neighbor never tried to borrow, +from the fact that she had enough of them on Sundays. There is no danger +that your neighbor will burn a hole in your new brass kettle if you have +none to lend. It will excite no surprise to say that we had an interest +in all that happened on the other side of the parsonage fence, and that +any injury inflicted on so kind a woman would rouse our sympathy.</p> + +<p>On the wintry morning of which we speak our neighbor had been making +ice-cream; but there being some defect in the machinery, the cream had +not sufficiently congealed, and so she set the can of the freezer +containing the luxury on her back steps, expecting the cold air would +completely harden it. What was our dismay to see that our dog Carlo, on +whose early education we were expending great care, had taken upon +himself the office of ice-cream inspector, and was actually busy with +the freezer! We hoisted the window and shouted at him, but his mind was +so absorbed in his undertaking he did not stop to listen. Carlo was a +greyhound, thin, gaunt and long-nosed, and he was already making his way +on down toward the bottom of the can. His eyes and all his head had +disappeared in the depths of the freezer. Indeed, he was so far +submerged that when he heard us, with quick and infuriate pace, coming +up close behind him, he could not get his head out, and so started with +the encumbrance on his head, in what direction he knew not. No dog was +ever in a more embarrassing position—freezer to the right of him, +freezer to the left of him, freezer on the top of him, freezer under +him.</p> + +<p>So, thoroughly blinded, he rushed against the fence then against the +side of the house, then <a name="Page_33" id="Page_33" />against a tree. He barked as though he thought +he might explode the nuisance with loud sound, but the sound was +confined in so strange a speaking-trumpet that he could not have known +his own voice. His way seemed hedged up. Fright and anger and remorse +and shame whirled him about without mercy.</p> + +<p>A feeling of mirthfulness, which sometimes takes me on most +inappropriate occasions, seized me, and I sat down on the ground, +powerless at the moment when Carlo most needed help. If I only could +have got near enough, I would have put my foot on the freezer, and, +taking hold of the dog's tail, dislodged him instantly; but this I was +not permitted to do. At this stage of the disaster my neighbor appeared +with a look of consternation, her cap-strings flying in the cold wind. I +tried to explain, but the aforesaid untimely hilarity hindered me. All I +could do was to point at the flying freezer and the adjoining dog and +ask her to call off her freezer, and, with assumed indignation, demand +what she meant by trying to kill my greyhound.</p> + +<p>The poor dog's every attempt at escape only wedged himself more +thoroughly fast. But after a while, in time to save the dog, though not +to save the ice-cream, my neighbor and myself effected a rescue. Edwin +Landseer, the great painter of dogs and their friends, missed his best +chance by not being there when the parishioner took hold of the freezer +and the pastor seized the dog's tail, and, pulling mightily in opposite +directions, they each got possession of their own property.</p> + +<p>Carlo was cured of his love for luxuries, and the sight of the freezer +on the back steps till the day of his death would send him howling away.</p> + +<p>Carlo found, as many people have found, that it is easier to get into +trouble than to get out.<a name="Page_34" id="Page_34" /> Nothing could be more delicious than while he +was eating his way in, but what must have been his feelings when he +found it impossible to get out! While he was stealing the freezer the +freezer stole him.</p> + +<p>Lesson for dogs and men! "Come in!" says the gray spider to the +house-fly; "I have entertained a great many flies. I have plenty of +room, fine meals and a gay life. Walk on this suspension bridge. Give me +your hand. Come in, my sweet lady fly. These walls are covered with +silk, and the tapestry is gobelin. I am a wonderful creature. I have +eight eyes, and of course can see your best interest. Philosophers have +written volumes about my antennae and cephalothorax." House-fly walks +gently in. The web rocks like a cradle in the breeze. The house-fly +feels honored to be the guest of such a big spider. We all have regard +for big bugs. "But what is this?" cries the fly, pointing to a broken +wing, "and this fragment of an insect's foot. There must have been a +murder here! Let me go back!" "Ha! ha!" says the spider, "the gate is +locked, the drawbridge is up. I only contracted to bring you in. I +cannot afford to let you out. Take a drop of this poison, and it will +quiet your nerves. I throw this hook of a fang over your neck to keep +you from falling off." Word went back to the house-fly's family, and a +choir of great green-bottled insects sang this psalm at the funeral:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="poem">"An unfortunate fly a-visiting went,</span> +<span class="poem"> And in a gossamer web found himself pent."</span> +</div> + +<p>The first five years of a dissipated life are comparatively easy, for it +is all down hill; but when the man wakes up and finds his tongue wound +with blasphemies, and his eyes swimming in rheum, and the antennae of +vice feeling along his nerves, and the spiderish poison eating through +his very life, and, he resolves to return, <a name="Page_35" id="Page_35" />he finds it hard traveling, +for it is up hill, and the fortresses along the road open on him their +batteries. We go into sin, hop, skip and jump; we come out of it +creeping on all fours.</p> + +<p>Let flies and dogs and men keep out of mischief. It is smooth all the +way there, and rough all the way back. It is ice-cream for Carlo clear +down to the bottom of the can, but afterward it is blinded eyes and sore +neck and great fright. It is only eighteen inches to go into the +freezer; it is three miles out. For Robert Burns it is rich wine and +clapping hands and carnival all the way going to Edinburgh; but going +back, it is worn-out body, and lost estate, and stinging conscience, and +broken heart, and a drunkard's grave.</p> + +<p>Better moderate our desires. Carlo had that morning as good a breakfast +as any dog need to have. It was a law of the household that he should be +well fed. Had he been satisfied with bread and meat, all would have been +well. But he sauntered out for luxuries. He wanted ice-cream. He got it, +but brought upon his head the perils and damages of which I have +written. As long as we have reasonable wants we get on comfortably, but +it is the struggle after luxuries that fills society with distress, and +populates prisons, and sends hundreds of people stark mad. Dissatisfied +with a plain house, and ordinary apparel, and respectable surroundings, +they plunge their head into enterprises and speculations from which they +have to sneak out in disgrace. Thousands of men have sacrificed honor +and religion for luxuries, and died with the freezer about their ears.</p> + +<p>Young Catchem has one horse, but wants six. Lives in a nice house on +Thirtieth street, but wants one on Madison Square. Has one beautiful +wife, but wants four. Owns a hundred thousand dollars of Erie stock, but +wants a million.<a name="Page_36" id="Page_36" /> Plunges his head into schemes of all sorts, eats his +way to the bottom of the can till he cannot extricate himself, and +constables, and sheriffs, and indignant society, which would have said +nothing had he been successful, go to pounding him because he cannot get +his head out.</p> + +<p>Our poor old Carlo is dead now. We all cried when we found that he would +never frisk again at our coming, nor put up his paw against us. But he +lived long enough to preach the sermon about caution and contentment of +which I have been the stenographer.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V" /><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37" />CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">OLD GAMES REPEATED.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>We tarried longer in the dining-room this evening than usual, and the +children, losing their interest in what we were saying got to playing +all about us in a very boisterous way, but we said nothing, for it is +the evening hour, and I think it keeps one fresh to have these things +going on around us. Indeed, we never get over being boys and girls. The +good, healthy man sixty years of age is only a boy with added +experience. A woman is only an old girl. Summer is but an older spring. +August is May in its teens. We shall be useful in proportion as we keep +young in our feelings. There is no use for fossils except in museums and +on the shelf. I like young old folks.</p> + +<p>Indeed, we all keep doing over what we did in childhood. You thought +that long ago you got through with "blind-man's-buff," and +"hide-and-seek," and "puss in the corner," and "tick-tack-to," and +"leap-frog," but all our lives are passed in playing those old games +over again.</p> + +<p>You say, "What a racket those children make in the other room! When +Squire Jones' boys come over to spend the evening with our children, it +seems as if they would tear the house down." "Father, be patient!" the +wife says; "we once played 'blind-man's-buff' ourselves." Sure enough, +father is playing it now, if he only knew it. Much of our time in life +we go about blindfolded, stumbling over mistakes, trying to catch things +that we miss, while people stand round the ring and titter, and break +out with half-suppressed <a name="Page_38" id="Page_38" />laughter, and push us ahead, and twitch the +corner of our eye-bandage. After a while we vehemently clutch something +with both hands, and announce to the world our capture; the blindfold is +taken from our eyes, and, amid the shouts of the surrounding spectators, +we find we have, after all, caught the wrong thing. What is that but +"blind-man's buff" over again?</p> + +<p>You say, "Jenny and Harry, go to bed. It seems so silly for you to sit +there making two parallel lines perpendicular, and two parallel lines +horizontal, and filling up the blanks with crosses and o's, and then +crying out 'tick-tack-to.'" My dear man, you are doing every day in +business just what your children are doing in the nursery. You find it +hard to get things into a line. You have started out for worldly +success. You get one or two things fixed but that is not what you want. +After a while you have had two fine successes. You say, "If I can have a +third success, I will come out ahead." But somebody is busy on the same +slate, trying to hinder you getting the game. You mark; he marks. I +think you will win. To the first and second success which you have +already gained you add the third, for which you have long been seeking. +The game is yours, and you clap your hands, and hunch your opponent in +the side, and shout,</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="poem">"Tick-tack-to,</span> +<span class="poem">Three in a row."</span> +</div> + +<p>The funniest play that I ever joined in at school, and one that sets me +a-laughing now as I think of it so I can hardly write, is "leap-frog." +It is unartistic and homely. It is so humiliating to the boy who bends +himself over and puts his hands down on his knees, and it is so perilous +to the boy who, placing his hands on the stooped <a name="Page_39" id="Page_39" />shoulders, attempts to +fly over. But I always preferred the risk of the one who attempted the +leap rather than the humiliation of the one who consented to be vaulted +over. It was often the case that we both failed in our part and we went +down together. For this Jack Snyder carried a grudge against me and +would not speak, because he said I pushed him down a-purpose. But I hope +he has forgiven me by this time, for he has been out as a missionary. +Indeed, if Jack will come this way, I will right the wrong of olden time +by stooping down in my study and letting him spring over me as my +children do.</p> + +<p>Almost every autumn I see that old-time schoolboy feat repeated. Mr. +So-and-so says, "You make me governor and I will see that you get to be +senator. Make me mayor and I will see that you become assessor. Get me +the office of street-sweeper and you shall have one of the brooms. You +stoop down and let me jump over you, and then I will stoop down and let +you jump over me. Elect me deacon and you shall be trustee. You write a +good thing about me and I will write a good thing about you." The day of +election in Church or State arrives. A man once very upright in his +principles and policy begins to bend. You cannot understand it. He goes +down lower and lower, until he gets his hands away down on his knees. +Then a spry politician or ecclesiastic comes up behind him, puts his +hand on the bowed strategist and springs clear over into some great +position. Good thing to have so good a man in a prominent place. But +after a while he himself begins to bend. Everybody says, "What is the +matter now? It cannot be possible that he is going down too." Oh yes! +Turn-about is fair play. Jack Snyder holds it against me to this day, +because, after he had stooped down to let me leap over him, I would not +stoop down to let him leap <a name="Page_40" id="Page_40" />over me. One half the strange things in +Church and State may be accounted for by the fact that, ever since Adam +bowed down so low as to let the race, putting its hands on him, fly over +into ruin, there has been a universal and perpetual tendency to +political and ecclesiastical "leap-frog." In one sense, life is a great +"game of ball." We all choose sides and gather into denominational and +political parties. We take our places on the ball ground. Some are to +pitch; they are the radicals. Some are to catch; they are the +conservatives. Some are to strike; they are those fond of polemics and +battle. Some are to run; they are the candidates. There are four +hunks—youth, manhood, old age and death. Some one takes the bat, lifts +it and strikes for the prize and misses it, while the man who was behind +catches it and goes in. This man takes his turn at the bat, sees the +flying ball of success, takes good aim and strikes it high, amid the +clapping of all the spectators. We all have a chance at the ball. Some +of us run to all the four hunks, from youth to manhood, from manhood to +old age, from old age to death. At the first hunk we bound with +uncontrollable mirth; coming to the second, we run with a slower but +stronger tread; coming to the third, our step is feeble; coming to the +fourth, our breath entirely gives out. We throw down the bat on the +black hunk of death, and in the evening catchers and pitchers go home to +find the family gathered and the food prepared. So may we all find the +candles lighted, and the table set, and the old folks at home.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI" /><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41" />CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">THE FULL-BLOODED COW.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>We never had any one drop in about six o'clock p.m. whom we were more +glad to see than Fielding, the Orange County farmer. In the first place, +he always had a good appetite, and it did not make much difference what +we had to eat. He would not nibble about the end of a piece of bread, +undecided as to whether he had better take it, nor sit sipping his tea +as though the doctor had ordered him to take only ten drops at a time, +mixed with a little sugar and hot water. Perpetual contact with fresh +air and the fields and the mountains gave him a healthy body, while the +religion that he learned in the little church down by the mill-dam kept +him in healthy spirits. Fielding keeps a great drove of cattle and has +an overflowing dairy. As we handed him the cheese he said, "I really +believe this is of my own making." "Fielding," I inquired, "how does +your dairy thrive, and have you any new stock on your farm? Come give us +a little touch of the country." He gave me a mischievous look and said, +"I will not tell you a word until you let me know all about that +full-blooded cow, of which I have heard something. You need not try to +hide that story any longer." So we yielded to his coaxing. It was about +like this:</p> + +<p>The man had not been able to pay his debts. The mortgage on the farm had +been foreclosed. Day of sale had come. The sheriff stood on a box +reading the terms of vendue. All payments to be made in six months. The +auctioneer took his place. The old man and his wife and the <a name="Page_42" id="Page_42" />children +all cried as the piano, and the chairs, and the pictures, and the +carpets, and the bedsteads went at half their worth. When the piano +went, it seemed to the old people as if the sheriff were selling all the +fingers that had ever played on it; and when the carpets were struck +off, I think father and mother thought of the little feet that had +tramped it; and when the bedstead was sold, it brought to mind the +bright, curly heads that had slept on it long before the dark days had +come, and father had put his name on the back of a note, signing his own +death warrant. The next thing to being buried alive is to have the +sheriff sell you out when you have been honest and have tried always to +do right. There are so many envious ones to chuckle at your fall, and +come in to buy your carriage, blessing the Lord that the time has come +for you to walk and for them to ride.</p> + +<p>But to us the auction reached its climax of interest when we went to the +barn. We were spending our summers in the country, and must have a cow. +There were ten or fifteen sukies to be sold. There were reds, and +piebalds, and duns, and browns, and brindles, short horns, long horns, +crumpled horns and no horns. But we marked for our own a cow that was +said to be full-blooded, whether Alderney, or Durham, or Galloway, or +Ayrshire, I will not tell lest some cattle fancier feel insulted by what +I say; and if there is any grace that I pride myself on, it is prudence +and a determination always to say smooth things. "How much is bid for +this magnificent, full-blooded cow?" cried the auctioneer. "Seventy-five +dollars," shouted some one. I made it eighty. He made it ninety. +Somebody else quickly made it a hundred. After the bids had risen to one +hundred and twenty-five dollars, I got animated, and resolved that I +would <a name="Page_43" id="Page_43" />have that cow if it took my last cent. "One hundred and forty +dollars," shouted my opponent. The auctioneer said it was the finest cow +he had ever sold; and not knowing much about vendues, of course I +believed him. It was a good deal of money for a minister to pay, but +then I could get the whole matter off my hands by giving "a note." In +utter defiance of everything I cried out, "One hundred and fifty +dollars!" "Going at that," said the auctioneer. "Going at that! once! +twice! three times! gone! Mr. Talmage has it." It was one of the +proudest moments of our life. There she stood, tall, immense in the +girth, horns branching graceful as a tree branch, full-uddered, +silk-coated, pensive-eyed.</p> + +<p>We hired two boys to drive her home while we rode in a carriage. No +sooner had we started than the cow showed what turned out to be one of +her peculiarities, great speed of hoof. She left the boys, outran my +horse, jumped the fence, frightened nearly to death a group of +schoolchildren, and by the time we got home we all felt as if we had all +day been put on a fox-chase.</p> + +<p>We never had any peace with that cow. She knew more tricks than a +juggler. She could let down any bars, open any gate, outrun any dog and +ruin the patience of any minister. We had her a year, and yet she never +got over wanting to go to the vendue. Once started out of the yard, she +was bound to see the sheriff. We coaxed her with carrots, and apples, +and cabbage, and sweetest stalks, and the richest beverage of slops, but +without avail.</p> + +<p>As a milker she was a failure. "Mike," who lived just back of our place, +would come in at nights from his "Kerry cow," a scraggly runt that lived +on the commons, with his pail so full he had to carry it cautiously lest +it spill over. But after our full-blooded had been in clover to <a name="Page_44" id="Page_44" />her +eyes all day, Bridget would go out to the barnyard, and tug and pull for +a supply enough to make two or three custards. I said, "Bridget, you +don't know how to milk. Let me try." I sat down by the cow, tried the +full force of dynamics, but just at the moment when my success was about +to be demonstrated, a sudden thought took her somewhere between the +horns, and she started for the vendue, with one stroke of her back foot +upsetting the small treasure I had accumulated, and leaving me a mere +wreck of what I once was.</p> + +<p>She had, among other bad things, a morbid appetite. Notwithstanding we +gave her the richest herbaceous diet, she ate everything she could put +her mouth on. She was fond of horse blankets and articles of human +clothing. I found her one day at the clothes line, nearly choked to +death, for she had swallowed one leg of something and seemed +dissatisfied that she could not get down the other. The most perfect +nuisance that I ever had about my place was that full-blooded.</p> + +<p>Having read in our agricultural journals of cows that were slaughtered +yielding fourteen hundred pounds neat weight, we concluded to sell her +to the butcher. We set a high price upon her and got it—that is, we +took a note for it, which is the same thing. My bargain with the butcher +was the only successful chapter in my bovine experiences. The only +taking-off in the whole transaction was that the butcher ran away, +leaving me nothing but a specimen of poor chirography, and I already had +enough of that among my manuscripts.</p> + +<p>My friend, never depend on high-breeds. Some of the most useless of +cattle had ancestors spoken of in the "Commentaries of Caesar." That +Alderney whose grandfather used to graze on a lord's park in England may +not be worth the grass she eats.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45" />Do not depend too much on the high-sounding name of Durham or Devon. As +with animals, so with men. Only one President ever had a President for a +son. Let every cow make her own name, and every man achieve his own +position. It is no great credit to a fool that he had a wise +grandfather. Many an Ayrshire and Hereford has had the hollow-horn and +the foot-rot. Both man and animal are valuable in proportion as they are +useful. "Mike's" cow beat my full-blooded.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII" /><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46" />CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">THE DREGS IN LEATHERBACKS' TEA-CUP.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>We have an earlier tea this evening than usual, for we have a literary +friend who comes about this time of the week, and he must go home to +retire about eight o'clock. His nervous system is so weak that he must +get three or four hours sleep before midnight; otherwise he is next day +so cross and censorious he scalps every author he can lay his hand on. +As he put his hand on the table with an indelible blot of ink on his +thumb and two fingers, which blot he had not been able to wash off, I +said, "Well, my old friend Leatherbacks, what books have you been +reading to-day?"</p> + +<p>He replied, "I have been reading 'Men and Things.' Some books touch only +the head and make us think; other books touch only the heart and make us +feel; here and there one touches us under the fifth rib and makes us +laugh; but the book on 'Men and Things,' by the Rev. Dr. C.S. Henry, +touched me all over. I have felt better ever since. I have not seen the +author but once since the old university days, when he lectured us and +pruned us and advised us and did us more good than almost any other +instructor we ever had. Oh, those were grand days! No better than the +present, for life grows brighter to me all the time; but we shall not +forget the quaint, strong, brusque professor who so unceremoniously +smashed things which he did not like, and shook, the class with +merriment or indignation. The widest awake professorial room in the land +was Dr. Henry's, in the New York<a name="Page_47" id="Page_47" /> University. But the participators in +those scenes are all scattered. I know the whereabouts of but three or +four. So we meet for a little while on earth, and then we separate. +There must be a better place somewhere ahead of us.</p> + +<p>"I have also been looking over a book that overhauls the theology and +moral character of Abraham Lincoln. This is the only kind of slander +that is safe. I have read all the stuff for the last three years +published about Abraham Lincoln's unfair courtships and blank +infidelity. The protracted discussion has made only one impression upon +me, and that is this: How safe it is to slander a dead man! You may say +what you will in print about him, he brings no rebutting evidence. I +have heard that ghosts do a great many things, but I never heard of one +as printing a book or editing a newspaper to vindicate himself. Look out +how you vilify a living man, for he may respond with pen, or tongue, or +cowhide; but only get a man thoroughly dead (that is, so certified by +the coroner) and have a good, heavy tombstone put on the top of him, and +then you may say what you will with impunity.</p> + +<p>"But I have read somewhere in an old book that there is a day coming +when all wrongs will be righted; and I should not wonder if then the +dead were vindicated, and all the swine who have uprooted graveyards +should, like their ancestors of Gadara, run down a steep place into the +sea and get choked. The fact that there are now alive men so debauched +of mind and soul that they rejoice in mauling the reputation of those +who spent their lives in illustrious achievement for God and their +country, and then died as martyrs for their principles, makes me believe +in eternal damnation."</p> + +<p>With this last sentence my friend Leather<a name="Page_48" id="Page_48" />backs gave a violent gesture +that upset his cup and left the table-cloth sopping wet.</p> + +<p>"By the way," said he, "have you heard that Odger is coming?"</p> + +<p>"What!" said I. He continued without looking up, for he was at that +moment running his knife, not over-sharp, through a lamb-chop made out +of old sheep. (Wife, we will have to change our butcher!) He continued +with a severity perhaps partly caused by the obstinacy of the meat: "I +see in the 'Pall-Mall Budget' the startling intelligence that Mr. Odger +is coming to the United States on a lecturing expedition. Our American +newspapers do not seem, as yet, to have got hold of this news, but the +tidings will soon fly, and great excitement may be expected to follow."</p> + +<p>Some unwise person might ask the foolish question, "Who is Odger?" I +hope, however, that such inquiry will not be made, for I would be +compelled to say that I do not know. Whether he is a clergyman or a +reformer, or an author, or all these in one, we cannot say. Suffice it +he is a foreigner, and that is enough to make us all go wild. A +foreigner does not need more than half as much brain or heart to do +twice as well as an American, either at preaching or lecturing. There is +for many Americans a bewitchment in a foreign brogue. I do not know but +that he may have dined with the queen, or have a few drops of lordly +blood distributed through his arteries.</p> + +<p>I notice, however, that much of this charm has been broken. I used to +think that all English lords were talented, till I heard one of them +make the only poor speech that was made at the opening meeting of the +Evangelical Alliance. Our lecturing committees would not pay very large +prices next year for Mr. Bradlaugh and Edmund Yates. Indeed, we expect +that the time will <a name="Page_49" id="Page_49" />soon come when the same kind of balances will weigh +Englishmen, Scotchmen, Irishmen, Frenchmen and Americans.</p> + +<p>If a man can do anything well, he will be acceptable without reference +to whether he was born by the Clyde, the Thames, the Seine, or the +Hudson. But until those scales be lifted it is sufficient to announce +the joyful tidings that "Odger is coming."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII" /><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50" />CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">THE HOT AXLE.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>The express train was flying from Cork to Queenstown. It was going like +sixty—that is, about sixty miles an hour. No sight of an Irish village +to arrest our speed, no sign of break-down, and yet the train halted. We +looked out of the window, saw the brakemen and a crowd of passengers +gathering around the locomotive and a dense smoke arising. What was the +matter? A hot axle!</p> + +<p>We were on the lightning train for Cleveland. We had no time to spare. +If we stopped for a half hour we should be greeted by the anathema of a +lecturing committee. We felt a sort of presentiment that we should be +too late, when to confirm it the whistle blew, and the brakes fell, and +the cry all along the train was, "What is the matter?" Answer: "A hot +axle!" The wheels had been making too many revolutions in a minute. The +car was on fire. It was a very difficult thing to put it out; water, +sand and swabs were tried, and caused long detention and a smoke that +threatened flame down to the end of the journey.</p> + +<p>We thought then, and think now, this is what is the matter with people +everywhere. In this swift, "express," American life, we go too fast for +our endurance. We think ourselves getting on splendidly, when in the +midst of our successes we come to a dead halt. What is the matter? +Nerves or muscles or brains give out. We have made too many revolutions +in an hour. A hot axle!</p> + +<p><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51" />Men make the mistake of working according to their opportunities, and +not according to their capacity of endurance. "Can I run this train from +Springfield to Boston at the rate of fifty miles an hour?" says an +engineer. Yes. "Then I will run it reckless of consequences." Can I be a +merchant, and the president of a bank, and a director in a life +insurance company, and a school commissioner, and help edit a paper, and +supervise the politics of our ward, and run for Congress? "I can!" the +man says to himself. The store drives him; the school drives him; +politics drive him. He takes all the scoldings and frets and +exasperations of each position. Some day at the height of the business +season he does not come to the store; from the most important meetings +of the bank directors he is absent. In the excitements of the political +canvass he fails to be at the place appointed. What is the matter? His +health has broken down. The train halts long before it gets to the +station. A hot axle!</p> + +<p>Literary men have great opportunities opening in this day. If they take +all that open, they are dead men, or worse, living men who ought to be +dead. The pen runs so easy when you have good ink, and smooth paper, and +an easy desk to write on, and the consciousness of an audience of one, +two or three hundred thousand readers. There are the religious +newspapers through which you preach, and the musical journals through +which you may sing, and the agricultural periodicals through which you +can plough, and family newspapers in which you may romp with the whole +household around the evening stand. There are critiques to be written, +and reviews to be indulged in, and poems to be chimed, and novels to be +constructed. When out of a man's pen he can shake recreation, and +friendship, and use<a name="Page_52" id="Page_52" />fulness, and bread, he is apt to keep it shaking. So +great are the invitations to literary work that the professional men of +the day are overcome. They sit faint and fagged out on the verge of +newspapers and books. Each one does the work of three, and these men sit +up late nights, and choke down chunks of meat without mastication, and +scold their wives through irritability, and maul innocent authors, and +run the physical machinery with a liver miserably given out. The driving +shaft has gone fifty times a second. They stop at no station. The +steam-chest is hot and swollen. The brain and the digestion begin to +smoke. Stop, ye flying quills! "Down brakes!" A hot axle!</p> + +<p>Some of the worst tempered people of the day are religious people, from +the fact that they have no rest. Added to the necessary work of the +world, they superintend two Sunday-schools, listen to two sermons, and +every night have meetings of charitable and Christian institutions. They +look after the beggars, hold conventions, speak at meetings, wait on +ministers, serve as committeemen, take all the hypercriticisms that +inevitably come to earnest workers, rush up and down the world and +develop their hearts at the expense of all the other functions. They are +the best men on earth, and Satan knows it, and is trying to kill them as +fast as possible. They know not that it is as much a duty to take care +of their health as to go to the sacrament. It is as much a sin to commit +suicide with the sword of truth as with a pistol.</p> + +<p>Our earthly life is a treasure to be guarded, it is an outrageous thing +to die when we ought to live. There is no use in firing up a Cunarder to +such a speed that the boiler bursts mid-Atlantic, when at a more +moderate rate it might have reached the docks at Liverpool. It is a sin +to <a name="Page_53" id="Page_53" />try to do the work of thirty years in five years.</p> + +<p>A Rocky Mountain locomotive engineer told us that at certain places they +change locomotives and let the machine rest, as a locomotive always kept +in full heat soon got out of order. Our advice to all overworked good +people is, "Slow up!" Slacken your speed as you come to the crossings. +All your faculties for work at this rate will be consumed. You are on +fire now—see the premonitory smoke. A hot axle!</p> + +<p>Some of our young people have read till they are crazed of learned +blacksmiths who at the forge conquered thirty languages, and of +shoemakers who, pounding sole-leather, got to be philosophers, and of +milliners who, while their customers were at the glass trying on their +spring hats, wrote a volume of first-rate poems. The fact is no +blacksmith ought to be troubled with more than five languages; and +instead of shoemakers becoming philosophers, we would like to turn our +surplus of philosophers into shoemakers; and the supply of poetry is so +much greater than the demand that we wish milliners would stick to their +business. Extraordinary examples of work and endurance may do as much +harm as good. Because Napoleon slept only three hours a night, hundreds +of students have tried the experiment; but instead of Austerlitz and +Saragossa, there came of it only a sick headache and a botch of a +recitation. We are told of how many books a man can read in the five +spare minutes before breakfast, and the ten minutes at noon, but I wish +some one could tell us how much rest a man can get in fifteen minutes +after dinner, or how much health in an hour's horseback ride, or how +much fun in a Saturday afternoon of cricket. He who has such an idea of +the value of time that he takes none of it for rest wastes all his time.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54" />Most Americans do not take time for sufficient sleep. We account for +our own extraordinary health by the fact that we are fanatics on the +subject of sleep. We differ from our friend Napoleon Bonaparte in one +respect: we want nine hours' sleep, and we take it—eight hours at night +and one hour in the day. If we miss our allowance one week, as we often +do, we make it up the next week or the next month. We have sometimes +been twenty-one hours in arrearages. We formerly kept a memorandum of +the hours for sleep lost. We pursued those hours till we caught them. If +at the beginning of our summer vacation we are many hours behind in +slumber, we go down to the sea-shore or among the mountains and sleep a +month. If the world abuses us at any time, we go and take an extra +sleep; and when we wake up, all the world is smiling on us. If we come +to a knotty point in our discourse, we take a sleep; and when we open +our eyes, the opaque has become transparent. We split every day in two +by a nap in the afternoon. Going to take that somniferous interstice, we +say to the servants, "Do not call me for anything. If the house takes +fire, first get the children out and my private papers; and when the +roof begins to fall in call me." Through such fanaticism we have thus +far escaped the hot axle.</p> + +<p>Somebody ought to be congratulated—I do not know who, and so I will +shake hands all around—on the fact that the health of the country seems +improving. Whether Dio Lewis, with his gymnastic clubs, has pounded to +death American sickness, or whether the coming here of many English +ladies with their magnificent pedestrian habits, or whether the +medicines in the apothecary shops through much adulteration have lost +their force, or whether the multiplication of bathtubs has induced to +cleanliness people who were <a name="Page_55" id="Page_55" />never washed but once, and that just after +their arrival on this planet, I cannot say. But sure I am that I never +saw so many bright, healthy-faced people as of late.</p> + +<p>Our maidens have lost the languor they once cultivated, and walk the +street with stout step, and swing the croquet mallet with a force that +sends the ball through two arches, cracking the opposing ball with great +emphasis. Our daughters are not ashamed to culture flower beds, and +while they plant the rose in the ground a corresponding rose blooms in +their own cheek.</p> + +<p>But we need another proclamation of emancipation. The human locomotive +goes too fast. Cylinder, driving-boxes, rock-shaft, truck and valve-gear +need to "slow up." Oh! that some strong hand would unloose the burdens +from our over-tasked American life, that there might be fewer bent +shoulders, and pale cheeks, and exhausted lungs, and quenched eyes, the +law, and medicine, and theology less frequently stopped in their +glorious progress, because of the hot axle!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX" /><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56" />CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">BEEFSTEAK FOR MINISTERS.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>There have been lately several elaborate articles remarking upon what +they call the lack of force and fire in the clergy. The world wonders +that, with such a rousing theme as the gospel, and with such a grand +work as saving souls, the ministry should ever be nerveless. Some +ascribe it to lack of piety, and some to timidity of temperament. We +believe that in a great number of cases it is from the lack of +nourishing food. Many of the clerical brotherhood are on low diet. After +jackets and sacks have been provided for the eight or ten children of +the parsonage, the father and mother must watch the table with severest +economy. Coming in suddenly upon the dinner-hour of the country +clergyman, the housewife apologizes for what she calls "a picked-up" +dinner, when, alas! it is nearly always picked up.</p> + +<p>Congregations sometimes mourn over dull preaching when themselves are to +blame. Give your minister more beefsteak and he will have more fire. +Next to the divine unction, the minister needs blood; and he cannot make +that out of tough leather. One reason why the apostles preached so +powerfully was that they had healthy food. Fish was cheap along Galilee, +and this, with unbolted bread, gave them plenty of phosphorus for brain +food. These early ministers were never invited out to late suppers, with +chicken salad and doughnuts. Nobody ever embroidered slippers for the +big foot of Simon Peter, the fisherman preacher. Tea parties, with hot +waffles, at ten o'clock at night, make namby-<a name="Page_57" id="Page_57" />pamby ministers; but good +hours and substantial diet, that furnish nitrates for the muscles, and +phosphates for the brain, and carbonates for the whole frame, prepare a +man for effective work. When the water is low, the mill-wheel goes slow; +but a full race, and how fast the grists are ground! In a man the +arteries are the mill-race and the brain the wheel, and the practical +work of life is the grist ground. The reason our soldiers failed in some +of the battles was because their stomachs had for several days been +innocent of everything but "hard tack." See that your minister has a +full haversack. Feed him on gruel during the week and on Sunday he will +give you gruel. What is called the "parson's nose" in a turkey or fowl +is an allegory setting forth that in many communities the minister comes +out behind.</p> + +<p>Eight hundred or a thousand dollars for a minister is only a slow way of +killing him, and is the worst style of homicide. Why do not the trustees +and elders take a mallet or an axe, and with one blow put him out of his +misery? The damage begins in the college boarding house. The theological +student has generally small means, and he must go to a cheap boarding +house. A frail piece of sausage trying to swim across a river of gravy +on the breakfast plate, but drowned at last, "the linked sweetness long +drawn out" of flies in the molasses cup, the gristle of a tough ox, and +measly biscuit, and buckwheat cakes tough as the cook's apron, and old +peas in which the bugs lost their life before they had time to escape +from the saucepan, and stale cucumbers cut up into small slices of +cholera morbus,—are the provender out of which we are trying at +Princeton and Yale and New Brunswick to make sons of thunder. Sons of +mush! From such depletion we step gasping into the pulpit, and look so +heavenly pale that the mothers in Israel <a name="Page_58" id="Page_58" />are afraid we will evaporate +before we get through our first sermon.</p> + +<p>Many of our best young men in preparation for the ministry are going +through this martyrdom. The strongest mind in our theological class +perished, the doctors said afterward from lack of food. The only time he +could afford a doctor was for his post-mortem examination.</p> + +<p>I give the financial condition of many of our young theological students +when I say:</p> + +<table border='0' summary="financial condition of theological students"> +<tr> + <td>Income</td> <td class='tdrt'>$250 00</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='2'> Outgo:</td></tr> + <tr><td class='lti'>Board at $3 per week (cheap place)</td> <td class='tdrt'>156 00</td></tr> + <tr><td class='lti'>Clothing (shoddy)</td> <td class='tdrt'>100 00</td></tr> + <tr><td class='lti'>Books (no morocco)</td> <td class='tdrt'>25 00</td></tr> + <tr><td class='lti'>Traveling expenses</td> <td class='tdrt'>20 00</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan='2'> </td></tr> + <tr><td>Total</td> <td>$301 00</td></tr> +</table> + +<p>Here you see a deficit of fifty-one dollars. As there are no "stealings" +in a theological seminary, he makes up the balance by selling books or +teaching school. He comes into life cowed down, with a patch on both +knees and several other places, and a hat that has been "done over" four +or five times, and so weak that the first sharp wind that whistles round +the corner blows him into glory. The inertness you complain of in the +ministry starts early. Do you suppose that if Paul had spent seven years +in a cheap boarding house, and the years after in a poorly-supplied +parsonage, he would have made Felix tremble? No! The first glance of the +Roman procurator would have made him apologize for intrusion.</p> + +<p>Do not think that all your eight-hundred-dollar minister needs is a +Christmas present of an elegantly-bound copy of "Calvin's Institutes." +He is sound already on the doctrine of election, and it is a poor +consolation if in this way you <a name="Page_59" id="Page_59" />remind him that he has been foreordained +to starve to death. Keep your minister on artichokes and purslain, and +he will be fit to preach nothing but funeral sermons from the text "All +flesh is grass." While feeling most of all our need of the life that +comes from above, let us not ignore the fact that many of the clergy +to-day need more gymnastics, more fresh air, more nutritious food. +Prayer cannot do the work of beefsteak. You cannot keep a hot fire in +the furnace with poor fuel and the damper turned.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X" /><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60" />CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN OLD PAIR OF SCISSORS.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>I was born in Sheffield, England, at the close of the last century, and +was, like all those who study Brown's Shorter Catechism, made out of +dust. My father was killed at Herculaneum at the time of the accident +there, and buried with other scissors and knives and hooks and swords. +On my mother's side I am descended from a pair of shears that came to +England during the Roman invasion. My cousin hung to the belt of a +duchess. My uncle belonged to Hampton Court, and used to trim the king's +hair. I came to the United States while the grandfathers of the present +generation of children were boys.</p> + +<p>When I was young I was a gay fellow—indeed, what might have been called +"a perfect blade." I look old and rusty hanging here on the nail, but +take me down, and though my voice is a little squeaky with old age, I +can tell you a pretty tale. I am sharper than I look. Old scissors know +more than you think. They say I am a little garrulous, and perhaps I may +tell things I ought not.</p> + +<p>I helped your grandmother prepare for her wedding. I cut out and fitted +all the apparel of that happy day. I hear her scold the young folks now +for being so dressy, but I can tell you she was once that way herself. +Did not I, sixty years ago, lie on the shelf and laugh as I saw her +stand by the half hour before the glass, giving an extra twist to her +curl and an additional dash of white powder on her hair—now fretted +<a name="Page_61" id="Page_61" />because the powder was too thick, now fretted because it was too thin? +She was as proud in cambric and calico and nankeen as Harriet is to-day +in white tulle and organdy. I remember how careful she was when she ran +me along the edges of the new dress. With me she clipped and notched and +gored and trimmed, and day and night I went click! click! click! and it +seemed as if she would never let me rest from cutting.</p> + +<p>I split the rags for the first carpet on the old homestead, and what a +merry time we had when the neighbors came to "the quilting!" I lay on +the coverlet that was stretched across the quilting-frame and heard all +the gossip of 1799. Reputations were ripped and torn just as they are +now. Fashions were chattered about, the coalscuttle bonnet of some +offensive neighbor (who was not invited to the quilting) was criticised, +and the suspicion started that she laced too tight; and an old man who +happened to have the best farm in the county was overhauled for the size +of his knee-buckles, and the exorbitant ruffles on his shirt, and the +costly silk lace to his hat. I lay so still that no one supposed I was +listening. I trembled on the coverlet with rage and wished that I could +clip the end of their tattling tongues, but found no chance for revenge, +till, in the hand of a careless neighbor, I notched and nearly spoiled +the patch-work.</p> + +<p>Yes, I am a pair of old scissors. I cut out many a profile of old-time +faces, and the white dimity bed curtains. I lay on the stand when your +grandparents were courting—for that had to be done then as well as +now—and it was the same story of chairs wide apart, and chairs coming +nearer, and arm over the back of the chair, and late hours, and four or +five gettings up to go with the determination to stay, protracted +inter<a name="Page_62" id="Page_62" />views on the front steps, blushes and kisses. Your +great-grandmother, out of patience at the lateness of the hour, shouted +over the banister to your immediate grandmother, "Mary! come to bed!" +Because the old people sit in the corner looking so very grave, do not +suppose their eyes were never roguish, nor their lips ruby, nor their +hair flaxen, nor their feet spry, nor that they always retired at +half-past eight o'clock at night. After a while, I, the scissors, was +laid on the shelf, and finally thrown into a box among nails and screws +and files. Years of darkness and disgrace for a scissors so highly born +as I. But one day I was hauled out. A bell tinkled in the street. An +Italian scissors-grinder wanted a job. I was put upon the stone, and the +grinder put his foot upon the treadle, and the bands pulled, and the +wheel sped, and the fire flew, and it seemed as if, in the heat and +pressure and agony, I should die. I was ground, and rubbed, and oiled, +and polished, till I glittered in the sun; and one day, when young +Harriet was preparing for the season, I plunged into the fray. I almost +lost my senses among the ribbons, and flew up and down among the +flounces, and went mad amongst the basques. I move round as gay as when +I was young; and modern scissors, with their stumpy ends, and loose +pivots, and weak blades, and glaring bows, and course shanks, are stupid +beside an old family piece like me. You would be surprised how spry I am +flying around the sewing-room, cutting corsage into heart-shape, and +slitting a place for button holes, and making double-breasted jackets, +and hollowing scallops, and putting the last touches on velvet +arabesques and Worth overskirts. I feel almost as well at eighty years +of age as at ten, and I lie down to sleep at night amid all the fineries +of the wardrobe, on olive-green cashmere, and beside <a name="Page_63" id="Page_63" />pannier puffs, and +pillowed on feathers of ostrich.</p> + +<p>Oh! what a gay life the scissors live! I may lie on gayest lady's lap, +and little children like me better than almost anything else to play +with. The trembling octogenarian takes me by the hand, and the +rollicking four-year-old puts on me his dimpled fingers. Mine are the +children's curls and the bride's veil. I am welcomed to the Christmas +tree, and the sewing-machine, and the editor's table. I have cut my way +through the ages. Beside pen, and sword, and needle, I dare to stand +anywhere, indispensable to the race, the world-renowned scissors!</p> + +<p>But I had a sad mission once. The bell tolled in the New England village +because a soul had passed. I sat up all the night cutting the pattern +for a shroud. Oh, it was gloomy work. There was wailing in the house, +but I could not stop to mourn. I had often made the swaddling-clothes +for a child, but that was the only time I fashioned a robe for the +grave. To fit it around the little neck, and make the sleeves just long +enough for the quiet arms—it hurt me more than the tilt hammers that +smote me in Sheffield, than the files of the scissors-grinder at the +door. I heard heart-strings snap as I went through the linen, and in the +white pleats to be folded over the still heart I saw the snow banked on +a grave. Give me, the old scissors, fifty bridal dresses to make rather +than one shroud to prepare.</p> + +<p>I never recovered from the chill of those dismal days, but at the end of +life I can look back and feel that I have done my work well. Other +scissors have frayed and unraveled the garments they touched, but I have +always made a clean path through the linen or the damask I was called to +divide. Others screeched complainingly at their toil; I smoothly worked +my jaws. Many <a name="Page_64" id="Page_64" />of the fingers that wrought with me have ceased to open +and shut, and my own time will soon come to die, and I shall be buried +in a grave of rust amid cast-off tenpenny nails and horse-shoes. But I +have stayed long enough to testify, first, that these days are no worse +than the old ones, the granddaughter now no more proud than the +grandmother was; secondly, that we all need to be hammered and ground in +order to take off the rust; and thirdly, that an old scissors, as well +as an old man, may be scoured up and made practically useful.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI" /><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65" />CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">A LIE, ZOOLOGICALLY CONSIDERED.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>We stand agape in the British Museum, looking at the monstrous skeletons +of the mastodon, megatherium and iguanodon, and conclude that all the +great animals thirty feet long and eleven feet high are extinct.</p> + +<p>Now, while we do not want to frighten children or disturb nervous +people, we have to say that the other day we caught a glimpse of a +monster beside which the lizards of the saurian era were short, and the +elephants of the mammalian period were insignificant. We saw it in full +spring, and on the track of its prey. Children would call the creature +"a fib;" rough persons would term it "a whopper;" polite folks would say +it was "a fabrication;" but plain and unscientific people would style it +"a lie." Naturalists might assign it to the species "Tigris regalis," or +"Felis pardus."</p> + +<p>We do not think that anatomical and zoological justice has been done to +the lie. It is to be found in all zones. Livingstone saw it in Central +Africa; Dr. Kane found it on an iceberg beside a polar bear; Agassiz +discovered it in Brazil. It thrives about as well in one clime as +another, with perhaps a little preference for the temperate zone. It +lives on berries, or bananas, or corn, grapes, or artichokes; drinks +water, or alcohol, or tea. It eats up a great many children, and would +have destroyed the boy who afterward became the father of his country +had he not driven it back with his hatchet. (See the last two hundred +Sunday-school addresses.)</p> + +<p><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66" />The first peculiarity of this Tigris regalis or Felis pardus, commonly +called a lie, is its</p> + +<p style="text-align: center;">LONGEVITY.</p> + +<p>If it once get born, it lives on almost interminably. Sometimes it has +followed a man for ten, twenty or forty years, and has been as healthy +in its last leap as in the first. It has run at every president from +General Washington to General Grant, and helped kill Horace Greeley. It +has barked at every good man since Adam, and every good woman since Eve, +and every good boy since Abel, and every good cow since Pharaoh's lean +kine. Malarias do not poison it, nor fires burn it, nor winters freeze +it. Just now it is after your neighbor; to-morrow it will be after you. +It is the healthiest of all monsters. Its tooth knocks out the "tooth of +time." Its hair never turns white with age, nor does it limp with +decrepitude. It is distinguished for its longevity.</p> + + +<p>THE LENGTH OF ITS LEGS.</p> + +<p>It keeps up with the express train, and is present at the opening and +the shutting of the mailbags. It takes a morning run from New York to +San Francisco or over to London before breakfast. It can go a thousand +miles at a jump. It would despise seven-league boots as tedious. A +telegraph pole is just knee-high to this monster, and from that you can +judge its speed of locomotion. It never gets out of wind, carries a bag +of reputations made up in cold hash, so that it does not have to stop +for victuals. It goes so fast that sometimes five million people have +seen it the same morning.</p> + + +<p>KEENNESS OF NOSTRIL.</p> + +<p>It can smell a moral imperfection fifty miles away. The crow has no +faculty compared with <a name="Page_67" id="Page_67" />this for finding carrion. It has scented +something a hundred miles off, and before night "treed" its game. It has +a great genius for smelling. It can find more than is actually there. +When it begins to snuff the air, you had better look out. It has great +length and breadth and depth, and height of nose.</p> + + +<p>ACUTENESS OF EAR.</p> + +<p>The rabbit has no such power to listen as this creature we speak of. It +hears all the sounds that come from five thousand keyholes. It catches a +whisper from the other side the room, and can understand the scratch of +a pen. It has one ear open toward the east and the other toward the +west, and hears everything in both directions. All the tittle-tattle of +the world pours into those ears like vinegar through a funnel. They are +always up and open, and to them a meeting of the sewing society is a +jubilee and a political campaign is heaven.</p> + + +<p>SIZE OF THROAT.</p> + +<p>The snake has hard work to choke down a toad, and the crocodile has a +mighty struggle to take in the calf; but the monster of which I speak +can swallow anything. It has a throat bigger than the whale that took +down the minister who declined the call to Nineveh, and has swallowed +whole presbyteries and conferences of clergymen. A Brobdingnagian goes +down as easily as a Liliputian. The largest story about business +dishonor, or female frailty, or political deception, slips through with +the ease of a homoeopathic pellet. Its throat is sufficient for anything +round, or square, or angular, or octagonal.</p> + +<p>Nothing in all the earth is too big for its mastication and digestion +save the truth, and that will stick in its gullet.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68" />IT IS GREGARIOUS.</p> + +<p>It goes in a flock with others of its kind. If one takes after a man or +woman, there are at least ten in its company. As soon as anything bad is +charged against a man, there are many others who know things just as +deleterious. Lies about himself, lies about his wife, lies about his +children, lies about his associates, lies about his house, lies about +his barn, lies about his store—swarms of them, broods of them, herds of +them. Kill one of them, and there will be twelve alive to act as its +pall-bearers, another to preach its funeral sermon, and still another to +write its obituary.</p> + +<p>These monsters beat all the extinct species. They are white, spotted and +black. They have a sleek hide, a sharp claw and a sting in their tail. +They prowl through every street of the city, craunch in the restaurants, +sleep in the hall of Congress, and in grandest parlor have one paw under +the piano, another under the sofa, one by the mantel and the other on +the door-sill.</p> + +<p>Now, many people spend half their time in hunting lies. You see a man +rushing anxiously about to correct a newspaper paragraph, or a husband, +with fist clenched, on the way to pound some one who has told a false +thing about his wife. There is a woman on the next street who heard, +last Monday, a falsehood about her husband, and has had her hat and +shawl on ever since in the effort to correct wrong impressions. Our +object in this zoological sketch of a lie is to persuade you of the +folly of such a hunting excursion. If these monsters have such long +legs, and go a hundred miles at a jump, you might as well give up the +chase. If they have such keenness of nostril, they can smell you across +the State, and get out of your way. If they have such <a name="Page_69" id="Page_69" />long ears, they +can hear the hunter's first step in the woods. If they have such great +throats, they can swallow you at a gape. If they are gregarious, while +you shoot one, forty will run upon you like mad buffaloes, and trample +you to death. Arrows bound back from their thick hide; and as for +gunpowder, they use it regularly for pinches of snuff. After a shower of +bullets has struck their side, they lift their hind foot to scratch the +place, supposing a black fly has been biting. Henry the Eighth, in a +hawking party, on foot, attempted to leap a ditch in Hertfordshire, and +with his immense avoirdupois weight went splashing into the mud and +slime, and was hauled out by his footman half dead. And that is the fate +of men who spend their time hunting for lies. Better go to your work, +and let the lies run. Their bloody muzzles have tough work with a man +usefully busy. You cannot so easily overcome them with sharp retort as +with adze and yardstick. All the howlings of Californian wolves at night +do not stop the sun from kindling victorious morn on the Sierra Nevadas, +and all the ravenings of defamation and revenge cannot hinder the +resplendent dawn of heaven on a righteous soul.</p> + +<p>But they who spend their time in trying to lasso and decapitate a lie +will come back worsted, as did the English cockneys from a fox chase +described in the poem entitled "Pills to Purge Melancholy:"</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="poem">"And when they had done their sport, they came to London, where they dwell,</span> +<span class="poem">Their faces all so torn and scratched their wives scarce knew them well;</span> +<span class="poem">For 'twas a very great mercy so many 'scaped alive,</span> +<span class="poem">For of twenty saddles carried out, they brought again but five."</span> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII" /><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70" />CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">A BREATH OF ENGLISH AIR.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>My friend looked white as the wall, flung the "London Times" half across +the room, kicked one slipper into the air and shouted, "Talmage, where +on earth did you come from?" as one summer I stepped into his English +home. "Just come over the ferry to dine with you," I responded. After +some explanation about the health of my family, which demanded a sea +voyage, and thus necessitated my coming, we planned two or three +excursions.</p> + +<p>At eight o'clock in the morning we gathered in the parlor in the Red +Horse Hotel, at Stratford-on-Avon. Two pictures of Washington Irving, +the chair in which the father of American literature sat, and the table +on which he wrote, immortalizing his visit to that hotel, adorn the +room. From thence we sallied forth to see the clean, quaint village of +Stratford. It was built just to have Shakspeare born in. We have not +heard that there was any one else ever born there, before or since. If, +by any strange possibility, it could be proved that the great dramatist +was born anywhere else, it would ruin all the cab drivers, guides and +hostelries of the place.</p> + +<p>We went of course to the house where Shakspeare first appeared on the +stage of life, and enacted the first act of his first play. Scene the +first. Enter John Shakspeare, the father; Mrs. Shakspeare, the mother, +and the old nurse, with young William.</p> + +<p>A very plain house it is. Like the lark, which soars highest, but builds +its nest lowest, so with <a name="Page_71" id="Page_71" />genius; it has humble beginnings. I think ten +thousand dollars would be a large appraisement for all the houses where +the great poets were born. But all the world comes to this lowly +dwelling. Walter Scott was glad to scratch his name on the window, and +you may see it now. Charles Dickens, Edmund Kean, Albert Smith, Mark +Lemon and Tennyson, so very sparing of their autographs, have left their +signatures on the wall. There are the jambs of the old fire-place where +the poet warmed himself and combed wool, and began to think for all +time. Here is the chair in which he sat while presiding at the club, +forming habits of drink which killed him at the last, his own life +ending in a tragedy as terrible as any he ever wrote. Exeunt +wine-bibbers, topers, grogshop keepers, Drayton, Ben Jonson and William +Shakspeare. Here also is the letter which Richard Quyney sent to +Shakspeare, asking to borrow thirty pounds. I hope he did not loan it; +for if he did, it was a dead loss.</p> + +<p>We went to the church where the poet is buried. It dates back seven +hundred years, but has been often restored. It has many pictures, and is +the sleeping place of many distinguished dead; but one tomb within the +chancel absorbs all the attention of the stranger. For hundreds of years +the world has looked upon the unadorned stone lying flat over the dust +of William Shakspeare, and read the epitaph written by himself:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="poem">"Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbeare</span> +<span class="poem">To dig the dust enclosed here;</span> +<span class="poem">Bleste be ye man yt spares these stones,</span> +<span class="poem">And curst be he that moves my bones."</span> +</div> + +<p>Under such anathema the body has slept securely. A sexton once looked in +at the bones, but did not dare to touch them, lest his "quietus" should +be made with a bare bodkin.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72" />From the church door we mounted our carriage; and crossing the Avon on +a bridge which the lord mayor of London built four hundred years ago, we +start on one of the most memorable rides of our life. The country looked +fresh and luxuriant from recent rains. The close-trimmed hedges, the +sleek cattle, the snug cottages, the straggling villages with their +historic inns, the castle from whose park Shakspeare stole the deer, the +gate called "Shakspeare's stile," curious in the fact that it looks like +ordinary bars of fence, but as you attempt to climb over, the whole +thing gives way, and lets you fall flat, righting itself as soon as it +is unburdened of you; the rabbits darting along the hedges, undisturbed, +because it is unlawful, save for licensed hunters, to shoot, and then +not on private property; the perfect weather, the blue sky, the +exhilarating breeze, the glorious elms and oaks by the way,—make it a +day that will live when most other days are dead.</p> + +<p>At two o'clock we came in sight of Kenilworth Castle. Oh, this is the +place to stir the blood. It is the king of ruins. Warwick is nothing; +Melrose is nothing, compared with it. A thousand great facts look out +through the broken windows. Earls and kings and queens sit along the +shattered sides of the banqueting halls. The stairs are worn deep with +the feet that have clambered them for eight hundred years. As a loving +daughter arranges the dress of an old man, so every season throws a +thick mantle of ivy over the mouldering wall. The roof that caught and +echoed back the merriment of dead ages has perished. Time has struck his +chisel into every inch of the structure. By the payment of only +three-pence you find access to places where only the titled were once +permitted to walk. You go in, and are overwhelmed with the thoughts of +past glory and present decay. These halls were prom<a name="Page_73" id="Page_73" />enaded by Richard +Coeur de Lion; in this chapel burned the tomb lights over the grave of +Geoffrey de Clinton; in these dungeons kings groaned; in these doorways +duchesses fainted. Scene of gold, and silver, and scroll work, and +chiseled arch, and mosaic. Here were heard the carousals of the Round +Table; from those very stables the caparisoned horses came prancing out +for the tournament; through that gateway strong, weak, heroic, mean, +splendid, Queen Elizabeth advanced to the castle, while the waters of +the lake gleamed under torchlights, and the battlements were aflame with +rockets; and cornet, and hautboy, and trumpet poured their music on the +air; and goddesses glided out from the groves to meet her; and from +turret to foundation Kenilworth trembled under a cannonade, and for +seventeen days, at a cost of five thousand dollars a day, the festival +was kept. Four hundred servants standing in costly livery; sham battles +between knights on horseback; jugglers tumbling on the grass; thirteen +bears baited for the amusement of the guests; three hundred and twenty +hogsheads of beer consumed, till all Europe applauded, denounced and +stood amazed.</p> + +<p>Where is the glory now? What has become of the velvet? Who wears the +jewels? Would Amy Robsart have so longed to get into the castle had she +known its coming ruin? Where are those who were waited on, and those who +waited? What has become of Elizabeth, the visitor, and Robert Dudley, +the visited? Cromwell's men dashed upon the scene; they drained the +lakes; they befouled the banquet hall; they dismantled the towers; they +turned the castle into a tomb, on whose scarred and riven sides ambition +and cruelty and lust may well read their doom. "So let all thine enemies +perish, O Lord; but let them that love him be as the sun when he goeth +forth in his might."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII" /><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74" />CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">THE MIDNIGHT LECTURE.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>At eight o'clock precisely, on consecutive nights, we stepped on the +rostrum at Chicago, Zanesville. Indianapolis, Detroit, Jacksonville, +Cleveland and Buffalo. But it seemed that Dayton was to be a failure. We +telegraphed from Indianapolis, "Missed connection. Cannot possibly meet +engagement at Dayton." Telegram came back saying, "Take a locomotive and +come on!" We could not get a locomotive. Another telegram arrived: "Mr. +Gale, the superintendent of railroad, will send you in an extra train. +Go immediately to the depot!" We gathered up our traps from the hotel +floor and sofa, and hurled them at the satchel. They would not go in. We +put a collar in our hat, and the shaving apparatus in our coat pocket; +got on the satchel with both feet, and declared the thing should go shut +if it split everything between Indianapolis and Dayton. Arriving at the +depot, the train was ready. We had a locomotive and one car. There were +six of us on the train—namely, the engineer and stoker on the +locomotive; while following were the conductor, a brakeman at each end +of the car, and the pastor of a heap of ashes on Schermerhorn street, +Brooklyn. "When shall we get to Dayton?" we asked. "Half-past nine +o'clock!" responded the conductor. "Absurd!" we said; "no audience will +wait till half-past nine at night for a lecturer."</p> + +<p>Away we flew. The car, having such a light load, frisked and kicked, and +made merry of a journey that to us was becoming very grave. Go<a name="Page_75" id="Page_75" />ing round +a sharp curve at break-neck speed, we felt inclined to suggest to the +conductor that it would make no especial difference if we did not get to +Dayton till a quarter to ten. The night was cold, and the hard ground +thundered and cracked. The bridges, instead of roaring, as is their +wont, had no time to give any more than a grunt as we struck them and +passed on. At times it was so rough we were in doubt as to whether we +were on the track or taking a short cut across the field to get to our +destination a little sooner. The flagmen would hastily open their +windows and look at the screeching train. The whistle blew wildly, not +so much to give the villages warning as to let them know that something +terrible had gone through. Stopped to take in wood and water. A crusty +old man crawled out of a depot, and said to the engineer, "Jim, what on +earth is the matter?" "Don't know," said Jim; "that fellow in the car +yonder is bound to get to Dayton, and we are putting things through." +Brakes lifted, bell rung, and off again. Amid the rush and pitch of the +train there was no chance to prepare our toilet, and no looking-glass, +and it was quite certain that we would have to step from the train +immediately into the lecturing hall. We were unfit to be seen. We were +sure our hair was parted in five or six different places, and that the +cinders had put our face in mourning, and that something must be done. +What time we could spare from holding on to the bouncing seat we gave to +our toilet, and the arrangements we made, though far from satisfactory, +satisfied our conscience that we had done what we could. A button broke +as we were fastening our collar—indeed, a button always does break when +you are in a hurry and nobody to sew it on. "How long before we get +there?" we anxiously asked. "I have miscalculated,"<a name="Page_76" id="Page_76" /> said the conductor; +"we cannot get there till five minutes of ten o'clock." "My dear man," I +cried, "you might as well turn round and go back; the audience will be +gone long before ten o'clock." "No!" said the conductor; "at the last +depot I got a telegram saying they are waiting patiently, and telling us +to hurry on." The locomotive seemed to feel it was on the home stretch. +At times, what with the whirling smoke and the showering sparks, and the +din, and rush, and bang, it seemed as if we were on our last ride, and +that the brakes would not fall till we stopped for ever.</p> + +<p>At five minutes of ten o'clock we rolled into the Dayton depot, and +before the train came to a halt we were in a carriage with the lecturing +committee, going at the horse's full run toward the opera house. Without +an instant in which to slacken our pulses, the chairman rushed in upon +the stage, and introduced the lecturer of the evening. After in the +quickest way shedding overcoat and shawl, we confronted the audience, +and with our head yet swimming from the motion of the rail-train, we +accosted the people—many of whom had been waiting since seven +o'clock'—with the words, "Long-suffering but patient ladies and +gentlemen, you are the best-natured audience I ever saw." When we +concluded what we had to say, it was about midnight, and hence the title +of this little sketch.</p> + +<p>We would have felt it more worthy of the railroad chase if it had been a +sermon rather than a lecture. Why do not the Young Men's Christian +Associations of the country intersperse religious discourses with the +secular, the secular demanding an admission fee, the religious without +money or price? If such associations would take as fine a hall, and pay +as much for advertising, the audience to hear the sermon would be as +large <a name="Page_77" id="Page_77" />as the audience to hear the lecture. What consecrated minister +would not rather tell the story of Christ and heaven free of charge than +to get five hundred dollars for a secular address? Wake up, Young Men's +Christian Associations, to your glorious opportunity, it would afford a +pleasing change. Let Wendell Phillips give in the course his great +lecture on "The Lost Arts;" and A.A. Willitts speak on "Sunshine," +himself the best illustration of his subject; and Mr. Milburn, by "What +a Blind Man Saw in England," almost prove that eyes are a superfluity; +and W.H.H. Murray talk of the "Adirondacks," till you can hear the rifle +crack and the fall of the antlers on the rock. But in the very midst of +all this have a religious discourse that shall show that holiness is the +lost art, and that Christ is the sunshine, and that the gospel helps a +blind man to see, and that from Pisgah and Mount Zion there is a better +prospect than from the top of fifty Adirondacks.</p> + +<p>As for ourselves, save in rare and peculiar circumstances, good-bye to +the lecturing platform, while we try for the rest of our life to imitate +the minister who said, "This one thing I do!" There are exhilarations +about lecturing that one finds it hard to break from, and many a +minister who thought himself reformed of lecturing has, over-tempted, +gone up to the American Library or Boston Lyceum Bureau, and drank down +raw, a hundred lecturing engagements. Still, a man once in a while finds +a new pair of spectacles to look through.</p> + +<p>Between Indianapolis and Dayton, on that wild, swift ride, we found a +moral which we close with—for the printer-boy with inky fingers is +waiting for this paragraph—Never take the last train when you can help +it. Much of the trouble in life is caused by the fact that people, in +their engagements, wait til' the last minute. The <a name="Page_78" id="Page_78" />seven-o'clock train +will take them to the right place if everything goes straight, but in +this world things are very apt to go crooked. So you had better take the +train that starts an hour earlier. In everything we undertake let us +leave a little margin. We tried, jokingly, to persuade Captain Berry, +when off Cape Hatteras, to go down and get his breakfast, while we took +his place and watched the course of the steamer. He intimated to us that +we were running too near the bar to allow a greenhorn to manage matters +just there. There is always danger in sailing near a coast, whether in +ship or in plans and morals. Do not calculate too closely on +possibilities. Better have room and time to spare. Do not take the last +train. Not heeding this counsel makes bad work for this world and the +next. There are many lines of communication between earth and heaven. +Men say they can start at any time. After a while, in great excitement, +they rush into the depot of mercy and find that the final opportunity +has left, and, behold! it is the last train!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV" /><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79" />CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">THE SEXTON.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>King David, it is evident, once thought something of becoming a church +sexton, for he said, "I had rather be a doorkeeper," and so on. But he +never carried out the plan, perhaps because he had not the +qualification. It requires more talent in some respects to be sexton +than to be king. A sexton, like a poet, is born. A church, in order to +peace and success, needs the right kind of man at the prow, and the +right kind at the stern—that is, a good minister and a good sexton. So +far as we have observed, there are four kinds of janitors.</p> + + +<p>THE FIDGETY SEXTON.</p> + +<p>He is never still. His being in any one place proves to him that he +ought to be in some other. In the most intense part of the service, +every ear alert to the truth, the minister at the very climax of his +subject, the fidgety official starts up the aisle. The whole +congregation instantly turn from the consideration of judgment and +eternity to see what the sexton wants. The minister looks, the elders +look, the people in the gallery get up to look. It is left in universal +doubt as to why the sexton frisked about at just that moment. He must +have seen a fly on the opposite side of the church wall that needed to +be driven off before it spoiled the fresco, or he may have suspicion +that a rat terrier is in one of the pews by the pulpit, from the fact +that he saw two or three children laughing. Now, there is nothing more +perplexing than a dog chase <a name="Page_80" id="Page_80" />during religious services. At a prayer +meeting once in my house, a snarling poodle came in, looked around, and +then went and sat under the chair of its owner. We had no objection to +its being there (dogs should not be shut out from all advantages), but +the intruder would not keep quiet. A brother of dolorous whine was +engaged in prayer, when poodle evidently thought that the time for +response had come, and gave a loud yawn that had no tendency to +solemnize the occasion. I resolved to endure it no longer. I started to +extirpate the nuisance. I made a fearful pass of my hand in the +direction of the dog, but missed him. A lady arose to give me a better +chance at the vile pup, but I discovered that he had changed position. I +felt by that time obstinately determined to eject him. He had got under +a rocking chair, at a point beyond our reach, unless we got on our +knees; and it being a prayer meeting, we felt no inappropriateness in +taking that position. Of course the exercise had meanwhile been +suspended, and the eyes of all were upon my undertaking. The elders +wished me all success in this police duty, but the mischievous lads by +the door were hoping for my failure. Knowing this I resolved that if the +exercises were never resumed, I would consummate the work and eject the +disturber. While in this mood I gave a lunge for the dog, not looking to +my feet, and fell over a rocker; but there were sympathetic hands to +help me up, and I kept on until by the back of the neck I grasped the +grizzly-headed pup, as he commenced kicking, scratching, barking, +yelping, howling, and carried him to the door in triumph, and, without +any care as to where he landed, hurled him out into the darkness.</p> + +<p>Give my love to the sexton, and tell him never to chase a dog in +religious service. Better let it <a name="Page_81" id="Page_81" />alone, though it should, like my +friend's poll-parrot, during prayer time, break out with the song, "I +would not live alway!" But the fidgety sexton is ever on the chase; his +boots are apt to be noisy and say as he goes up the aisle, +"Creakety-crack! Here I come. Creakety-crack!" Why should he come in to +call the doctor out of his pew when the case is not urgent? Cannot the +patient wait twenty minutes, or is this the cheap way the doctor has of +advertising? Dr. Camomile had but three cases in three months, and, +strange coincidence, they all came to him at half-past eleven o'clock +Sunday morning, while he was in church. If windows are to be lowered, or +blinds closed, or register to be shut off, let it be before the sermon.</p> + + +<p>THE LAZY SEXTON.</p> + +<p>He does not lead the stranger to the pew, but goes a little way on the +aisle, and points, saying, "Out yonder!" You leave the photograph of +your back in the dust of the seat you occupy; the air is in an +atmospheric hash of what was left over last Sunday. Lack of oxygen will +dull the best sermon, and clip the wings of gladdest song, and stupefy +an audience. People go out from the poisoned air of our churches to die +of pneumonia. What a sin, when there is so much fresh air, to let people +perish for lack of it! The churches are the worst ventilated buildings +on the continent. No amount of grace can make stale air sacred. "The +prince of the power of the air" wants nothing but poisoned air for the +churches. After audiences have assembled, and their cheeks are flushed, +and their respiration has become painful, it is too late to change it. +Open a window or door now, and you ventilate only the top of that man's +bald head, and the back of the neck of that delicate woman, and you send +off <a name="Page_82" id="Page_82" />hundreds of people coughing and sneezing. One reason why the +Sabbaths are so wide apart is that every church building may have six +days of atmospheric purification. The best man's breath once ejected is +not worth keeping. Our congregations are dying of asphyxia. In the name +of all the best interests of the church, I indict one-half the sextons.</p> + + +<p>THE GOOD SEXTON.</p> + +<p>He is the minister's blessing, the church's joy, a harbinger of the +millennium. People come to church to have him help them up the aisle. He +wears slippers. He stands or sits at the end of the church during an +impressive discourse, and feels that, though he did not furnish the +ideas, he at least furnished the wind necessary in preaching it. He has +a quick nostril to detect unconsecrated odors, and puts the man who eats +garlic on the back seat in the corner. He does not regulate the heat by +a broken thermometer, minus the mercury. He has the window blinds +arranged just right—the light not too glaring so as to show the +freckles, nor too dark so as to cast a gloom, but a subdued light that +makes the plainest face attractive. He rings the bell merrily for +Christmas festival, and tolls it sadly for the departed. He has real +pity for the bereaved in whose house he goes for the purpose of burying +their dead—not giving by cold, professional manner the impression that +his sympathy for the troubled is overpowered by the joy that he has in +selling another coffin. He forgets not his own soul; and though his +place is to stand at the door of the ark, it is surely inside of it. +After a while, a Sabbath comes when everything is wrong in church: the +air is impure, the furnaces fail in their work, and the eyes of the +people are blinded with an unpleasant glare. Everybody <a name="Page_83" id="Page_83" />asks, "Where is +our old sexton?" Alas! he will never come again. He has gone to join +Obededom and Berechiah, the doorkeepers of the ancient ark. He will +never again take the dusting; whisk from the closet under the church +stairs, for it is now with him "Dust to dust." The bell he so often rang +takes up its saddest tolling for him who used to pull it, and the +minister goes into his disordered and unswept pulpit, and finds the +Bible upside down as he takes it up to read his text in Psalms, 84th +chapter and 10th verse: "I had rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my +God than to dwell in the tents of wickedness!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV" /><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84" />CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">THE OLD CRADLE.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>The historic and old-time cradle is dead, and buried in the rubbish of +the garret. A baby of five months, filled with modern notions, would +spurn to be rocked in the awkward and rustic thing. The baby spits the +"Alexandra feeding-bottle" out of its mouth, and protests against the +old-fashioned cradle, giving emphasis to its utterances by throwing down +a rattle that cost seven dollars, and kicking off a shoe imported at +fabulous expense, and upsetting the "baby-basket," with all its +treasures of ivory hair brushes and "Meen Fun." Not with voice, but by +violence of gesture and kicks and squirms, it says: "What! You going to +put me in that old cradle? Where is the nurse? My patience! What does +mother mean? Get me a 'patented self-rocker!'"</p> + +<p>The parents yield. In comes the new-fangled crib. The machine is wound +up, the baby put in, the crib set in motion, and mother goes off to make +a first-rate speech at the "Woman's Rights Convention!"</p> + +<p>Conundrum: Why is a maternal elocutionist of this sort like a mother of +old time, who trained four sons for the holy ministry, and through them +was the means of reforming and saving a thousand souls, and through that +thousand of saving ten thousand more? You answer: "No resemblance at +all!" You are right. Guessed the conundrum the first time. Go up to the +head of the class!</p> + +<p>Now, the "patented self-rockers," no doubt, have their proper use; but +go up with me into the garret of your old homestead, and exhume <a name="Page_85" id="Page_85" />the +cradle that you, a good while ago, slept in. The rockers are somewhat +rough, as though a farmer's plane had fashioned them, and the sides just +high enough for a child to learn to walk by. What a homely thing, take +it all in all! You say: Stop your depreciation! We were all rocked in +that. For about fifteen years that cradle was going much of the time. +When the older child was taken out, a smaller child was put in. The +crackle of the rockers is pleasant yet in my ears. There I took my first +lessons in music as mother sang to me. Have heard what you would call +far better singing since then, but none that so thoroughly touched me. +She never got five hundred dollars per night for singing three songs at +the Academy, with two or three encores grudgefully thrown in; but +without pay she sometimes sang all night, and came out whenever encored, +though she had only two little ears for an audience. It was a low, +subdued tone that sings to me yet across thirty-five years.</p> + +<p>You see the edge of that rocker worn quite deep? That is where her foot +was placed while she sat with her knitting or sewing, on summer +afternoons, while the bees hummed at the door and the shout of the boy +at the oxen was heard afield. From the way the rocker is worn, I think +that sometimes the foot must have been very tired and the ankle very +sore; but I do not think she stopped for that. When such a cradle as +that got a-going, it kept on for years.</p> + +<p>Scarlet-fever came in the door, and we all had it; and oh, how the +cradle did go! We contended as to who should lie in it, for sickness, +you know, makes babies of us all. But after a while we surrendered it to +Charlie. He was too old to lie in it, but he seemed so very, very sick; +and with him in the cradle it was "Rock!" "Rock!" "Rock!" But one day, +just as long <a name="Page_86" id="Page_86" />ago as you can remember, the cradle stopped. When a child +is asleep, there is no need of rocking. Charlie was asleep. He was sound +asleep. Nothing would wake him. He needed taking up. Mother was too weak +to do it. The neighbors came in to do that, and put a flower, fresh out +of the garden-dew, between the two still hands. The fever had gone out +of the cheek, and left it white, very white—the rose exchanged for the +lily. There was one less to contend for the cradle. It soon started +again, and with a voice not quite so firm as before, but more tender, +the old song came back: "Bye! bye! bye!" which meant more to you than +"Il Trovatore," rendered by opera troupe in the presence of an American +audience, all leaning forward and nodding to show how well they +understood Italian.</p> + +<p>There was a wooden canopy at the head of the old cradle that somehow got +loose and was taken off. But your infantile mind was most impressed with +the face which much of the time hovered over you. Other women sometimes +looked in at the child, and said: "That child's hair will be red!" or, +"What a peculiar chin!" or, "Do you think that child will live to grow +up?" and although you were not old enough to understand their talk, by +instinct you knew it was something disagreeable, and began to cry till +the dear, sweet, familiar face again hovered and the rainbow arched the +sky. Oh, we never get away from the benediction of such a face! It looks +at us through storm and night. It smiles all to pieces the world's +frown. After thirty-five years of rough, tumbling on the world's couch, +it puts us in the cradle again, and hushes us as with the very lullaby +of heaven.</p> + +<p>Let the old cradle rest in the garret. It has earned its quiet. The +hands that shook up its pillow have quit work. The foot that kept the +<a name="Page_87" id="Page_87" />rocker in motion is through with its journey. The face that hovered has +been veiled from mortal sight. Cradle of blessed memories! Cradle that +soothed so many little griefs! Cradle that kindled so many hopes! Cradle +that rested so many fatigues! Sleep now thyself, after so many years of +putting others to sleep!</p> + +<p>One of the great wants of the age is the right kind of a cradle and the +right kind of a foot to rock it. We are opposed to the usurpation of +"patented self-rockers." When I hear a boy calling his grandfather "old +daddy," and see the youngster whacking his mother across the face +because she will not let him have ice-cream and lemonade in the same +stomach, and at some refusal holding his breath till he gets black in +the face, so that to save the child from fits the mother is compelled to +give him another dumpling, and he afterward goes out into the world +stubborn, willful, selfish and intractable,—I say that boy was brought +up in a "patented self-rocker." The old-time mother would have put him +down in the old-fashioned cradle, and sung to him,</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="poem">"Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber,</span> +<span class="poem">Holy angels guard thy bed;"</span> +</div> + +<p>and if that did not take the spunk put of him would have laid him in an +inverted position across her lap, with his face downward, and with a +rousing spank made him more susceptible to the music.</p> + +<p>When a mother, who ought to be most interested in training her children +for usefulness and heaven, gives her chief time to fixing up her back +hair, and is worried to death because the curls she bought are not of +the same shade as the sparsely-settled locks of her own raising; and +culturing the dromedarian hump of dry-goods on her back till, as she +comes into church, a good old elder bursts into laughter behind his +pocket-<a name="Page_88" id="Page_88" />handkerchief, making the merriment sound as much like a sneeze +as possible; her waking moments employed with discussions about +polonaise, and vert-de-gris velvets, and ecru percale, and fringed +guipure, and poufs, and sashes, and rose-de-chêne silks, and scalloped +flounces; her happiness in being admired at balls and parties and +receptions,—you may know that she has thrown off the care of her +children, that they are looking after themselves, that they are being +brought up by machinery instead of loving hands—in a word, that there +is in her home a "patented self-rocker!"</p> + +<p>So far as possible, let all women dress beautifully: so God dresses the +meadows and the mountains. Let them wear pearls and diamonds if they can +afford it: God has hung round the neck of his world strings of diamonds, +and braided the black locks of the storm with bright ribbons of rainbow. +Especially before and right after breakfast, ere they expect to be seen +of the world, let them look neat and attractive for the family's sake. +One of the most hideous sights is a slovenly woman at the breakfast +table. Let woman adorn herself. Let her speak on platforms so far as she +may have time and ability to do so. But let not mothers imagine that +there is any new way of successfully training children, or of escaping +the old-time self-denial and continuous painstaking.</p> + +<p>Let this be the commencement of the law suit:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="poem">OLD CRADLE</span> +<span class="poem">versus</span> +<span class="poem">PATENTED SELF-ROCKER.</span> +</div> + +<p>Attorneys for plaintiff—all the cherished memories of the past.</p> + +<p>Attorneys for the defendant—all the humbugs of the present.</p> + +<p>For jury—the good sense of all Christendom.</p> + +<p>Crier, open the court and let the jury be empaneled.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI" /><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89" />CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">A HORSE'S LETTER.</p> + +<p class="center">[TRANSLATED FOR THE TEA-TABLE.]</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<blockquote><p>Brooklyn Livery Stables,</p> + +<p>January 20, 1874.</p> + +<p>My dear Gentlemen and Ladies: I am aware that this is the first time a +horse has ever taken upon himself to address any member of the human +family. True, a second cousin of our household once addressed Balaam, but +his voice for public speaking was so poor that he got unmercifully +whacked, and never tried it again. We have endured in silence all the +outrages of many thousands of years, but feel it now time to make +remonstrance. Recent attentions have made us aware of our worth. During +the epizoötic epidemic we had at our stables innumerable calls from +doctors and judges and clergymen. Everybody asked about our health. +Groomsmen bathed our throats, and sat up with us nights, and furnished us +pocket-handkerchiefs. For the first time in years we had quiet Sundays. +We overheard a conversation that made us think that the commerce and the +fashion of the world waited the news from the stable. Telegraphs +announced our condition across the land and under the sea, and we came to +believe that this world was originally made for the horse, and man for +his groom.</p> + +<p>But things are going back again to where they were. Yesterday I was +driven fifteen miles, jerked in the mouth, struck on the back, watered +when I was too warm; and instead of the six quarts of oats that my +driver ordered for me, I got two. Last week I was driven to a wedding, +and I heard music and quick feet and laughter that made the chandeliers +rattle, while I stood unblanketed in the cold. Sometimes the doctor hires +me, and I stand at twenty doors waiting for invalids to rehearse all +their pains. Then the minister hires me, and I have to stay till Mrs. +Tittle-Tattle has time to tell the dominie all the disagreeable things of +the parish.</p> + +<p>The other night, after our owner had gone home and the hostlers were +asleep, we held an indignation meeting in our livery stable. "Old Sorrel" +presided, and there was a long line of vice-presidents and secretaries, +mottled bays and dappled grays and chestnuts, and Shetland and Arabian +ponies. "Charley," one of the old inhabitants of the stable, began a +speech, amid great stamping on the part of the audience. But he soon +broke down for lack of wind. For five years he had been suffering with +the "heaves." Then "Pompey," a venerable nag, took his place; and though +he had nothing to say, he held out his spavined leg, which dramatic +posture excited the utmost enthusiasm of the audience. "Fanny Shetland," +the property of a lady, tried to damage the meeting by saying that horses +had no wrongs. She said, "Just look at my embroidered blanket. I never go +out when the weather is bad. Everybody who comes near pats me on the +shoulder. What can be more beautiful than going out on a sunshiny +afternoon to make an excursion through the park, amid the clatter of the +hoofs of the stallions? I walk, or pace, or canter, or gallop, as I +choose. Think of the beautiful life we live, with the prospect, after our +easy work is done, of going up and joining Elijah's horses of fire."</p> + +<p>Next, I took the floor, and said that I was born in a warm, snug +Pennsylvania barn; was, on my father's side, descended from Bucephalus; +on my mother's side, from a steed that Queen Elizabeth rode in a steeple +chase. My youth was passed in clover pastures and under trusses of +sweet-smelling hay. I flung my heels in glee at the farmer when he came +to catch me. But on a dark day I was over-driven, and my joints +stiffened, and my fortunes went down, and my whole family was sold. My +brother, with head down and sprung in the knees, pulls the street car. My +sister makes her living on the tow path, hearing the canal boys swear. My +aunt died of the epizoötic. My uncle—blind, and afflicted with the bots, +the ringbone and the spring-halt—wanders about the commons, trying to +persuade somebody to shoot him. And here I stand, old and sick, to cry +out against the wrongs of horses—the saddles that gall, the spurs that +prick, the snaffles that pinch, the loads that kill.</p> + +<p>At this a vicious-looking nag, with mane half pulled out, and a +"watch-eye," and feet "interfering," and a tail from which had been +subtracted enough hair to make six "waterfalls," squealed out the +suggestion that it was time for a rebellion, and she moved that we take +the field, and that all those who could kick should kick, and that all +those who could bite should bite, and that all those who could bolt +should bolt, and that all those who could run away should run away, and +that thus we fill the land with broken wagons and smashed heads, and +teach our oppressors that the day of retribution has come, and that our +down-trodden race will no more be trifled with.</p> + +<p>When this resolution was put to vote, not one said "Aye," but all cried +"Nay, nay," and for the space of half an hour kept on neighing. Instead +of this harsh measure, it was voted that, by the hand of Henry Bergh, +president of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, I +should write this letter of remonstrance.</p> + +<p>My dear gentlemen and ladies, remember that we, like yourselves, have +moods, and cannot always be frisky and cheerful. You do not slap your +grandmother in the face because this morning she does not feel as well as +usual; why, then do you slash us? Before you pound us, ask whether we +have been up late the night before, or had our meals at irregular hours, +or whether our spirits have been depressed by being kicked by a drunken +hostler. We have only about ten or twelve years in which to enjoy +ourselves, and then we go out to be shot into nothingness. Take care of +us while you may. Job's horse was "clothed with thunder," but all we ask +is a plain blanket. When we are sick, put us in a "horse-pital." Do not +strike us when we stumble or scare. Suppose you were in the harness and I +were in the wagon, I had the whip and you the traces, what an ardent +advocate you would be for kindness to the irrational creation! Do not let +the blacksmith drive the nail into the quick when he shoes me, or burn my +fetlocks with a hot file. Do not mistake the "dead-eye" that nature put +on my foreleg for a wart to be exterminated. Do not cut off my tail short +in fly-time. Keep the north wind out of our stables. Care for us at some +other time than during the epizoötics, so that we may see your kindness +is not selfish.</p> + +<p>My dear friends, our interests are mutual. I am a silent partner in your +business. Under my sound hoof is the diamond of national prosperity. +Beyond my nostril the world's progress may not go. With thrift, and +wealth, and comfort, I daily race neck and neck. Be kind to me if you +want me to be useful to you. And near be the day when the red horse of +war shall be hocked and impotent, and the pale horse of death shall be +hurled back on his haunches, but the white horse of peace, and joy, and +triumph shall pass on, its rider with face like the sun, all nations +following!</p> + +<p>Your most obedient servant,</p> + +<p>Charley Bucephalus.</p></blockquote> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII" /><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94" />CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">KINGS OF THE KENNEL.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>I said, when I lost Carlo, that I would never own another dog. We all +sat around, like big children, crying about it; and what made the grief +worse, we had no sympathizers. Our neighbors were glad of it, for he had +not always done the fair thing with them. One of them had lost a chicken +when it was stuffed and all ready for the pan, and suspicions were upon +Carlo.</p> + +<p>I was the only counsel for the defendant; and while I had to acknowledge +that the circumstantial evidence was against him, I proved his general +character for integrity, and showed that the common and criminal law +were on our side, Coke and Blackstone in our favor, and a long list of +authorities and decisions: II. Revised Statutes, New York, 132, § 27; +also, Watch vs. Towser, Crompton and Meeson, p. 375; also, State of New +Jersey vs. Sicem Blanchard.</p> + +<p>When I made these citations, my neighbor and his wife, who were judges +and jurors in the case, looked confounded; and so I followed up the +advantage I had gained with the law maxim, "Non minus ex dolo quam ex +culpa quisque hac lege tenetur," which I found afterward was the wrong +Latin, but it had its desired effect, so that the jury did not agree, +and Carlo escaped with his life; and on the way home he went spinning +round like a top, and punctuating his glee with a semicolon made by both +paws on my new clothes.</p> + +<p>Yet, notwithstanding all his predicaments and frailties, at his decease +we resolved, in our <a name="Page_95" id="Page_95" />trouble, that we would never own another dog. But +this, like many another resolution of our life, has been broken; and +here is Nick, the Newfoundland, lying sprawled on the mat. He has a jaw +set with strength; an eye mild, but indicative of the fact that he does +not want too many familiarities from strangers; a nostril large enough +to snuff a wild duck across the meadows; knows how to shake hands, and +can talk with head, and ear, and tail; and, save an unreasonable +antipathy to cats, is perfect, and always goes with me on my walk out of +town.</p> + +<p>He knows more than a great many people. Never do we take a walk but the +poodles, and the rat-terriers, and the grizzly curs with stringy hair +and damp nose, get after him. They tumble off the front door step and +out of the kennels, and assault him front and rear. I have several times +said to him (not loud enough for Presbytery to hear), "Nick, why do you +stand all this? Go at them!" He never takes my advice. He lets them bark +and snap, and passes on unprovokedly without sniff or growl. He seems to +say, "They are not worth minding. Let them bark. It pleases them and +don't hurt me. I started out for a six-mile tramp, and I cannot be +diverted. Newfoundlanders like me have a mission. My father pulled three +drowning men to the beach, and my uncle on my mother's side saved a +child from the snow. If you have anything brave, or good, or great for +me to do, just clap your hand and point out the work, and I will do it, +but I cannot waste my time on rat-terriers."</p> + +<p>If Nick had put that in doggerel, I think it would have read well. It +was wise enough to become the dogma of a school. Men and women are more +easily diverted from the straight course than is Nick. No useful people +escape being barked at. Mythology represents Cerberus a monster <a name="Page_96" id="Page_96" />dog at +the mouth of hell, but he has had a long line of puppies. They start out +at editors, teachers, philanthropists and Christians. If these men go +right on their way, they perform their mission and get their reward, but +one-half of them stop and make attempt to silence the literary, +political and ecclesiastical curs that snap at them.</p> + +<p>Many an author has got a drop of printers' ink spattered in his eye, and +collapsed. The critic who had lobsters for supper the night before, and +whose wife in the morning had parted his hair on the wrong side, snarled +at the new book, and the time that the author might have spent in new +work he squanders in gunning for critics. You might better have gone +straight ahead, Nick! You will come to be estimated for exactly what you +are worth. If a fool, no amount of newspaper or magazine puffery can set +you up; and if you are useful, no amount of newspaper or magazine +detraction can keep you down. For every position there are twenty +aspirants; only one man can get it; forthwith the other nineteen are on +the offensive. People are silly enough to think that they can build +themselves up with the bricks they pull out of your wall. Pass on and +leave them. What a waste of powder for a hunter to go into the woods to +shoot black flies, or for a man of great work to notice infinitesimal +assault! My Newfoundland would scorn to be seen making a drive at a +black-and-tan terrier.</p> + +<p>But one day, on my walk with Nick, we had an awful time. We were coming +in at great speed, much of the time on a brisk run, my mind full of +white clover tops and the balm that exudes from the woods in full +leafage, when, passing the commons, we saw a dog fight in which there +mingled a Newfoundland as large as Nick, a blood-hound and a pointer. +They had been interlocked for some time in terrific combat.<a name="Page_97" id="Page_97" /> They had +gnashed upon and torn each other until there was getting to be a great +scarcity of ears, and eyes and tails.</p> + +<p>Nick's head was up, but I advised him that he had better keep out of +that canine misunderstanding. But he gave one look, as much as to say, +"Here at last is an occasion worthy of me," and at that dashed into the +fray. There had been no order in the fight before, but as Nick entered +they all pitched at him. They took him fore, and aft, and midships. It +was a greater undertaking than he had anticipated. He shook, and bit, +and hauled, and howled. He wanted to get out of the fight, but found +that more difficult than to get in.</p> + +<p>Now, if there is anything I like, it is fair play. I said, "Count me +in!" and with stick and other missiles I came in like Blucher at +nightfall. Nick saw me and plucked up courage, and we gave it to them +right and left, till our opponents went scampering down the hill, and I +laid down the weapons of conflict and resumed my profession as a +minister, and gave the mortified dog some good advice on keeping out of +scrapes, which homily had its proper effect, for with head down and +penitent look, he jogged back with me to the city.</p> + +<p>Lesson for dogs and men: Keep out of fights. If you see a church +contest, or a company of unsanctified females overhauling each other's +good name until there is nothing left of them but a broken hoop skirt +and one curl of back hair, you had better stand clear. Once go in, and +your own character will be an invitation to their muzzles. Nick's long, +clean ear was a temptation to all the teeth. You will have enough +battles of your own, without getting a loan of conflicts at twenty per +cent a month.</p> + +<p>Every time since the unfortunate struggle I <a name="Page_98" id="Page_98" />have described, when Nick +and I take a country walk and pass a dog fight, he comes close up by my +side, and looks me in the eye with one long wipe of the tongue over his +chops, as much as to say, "Easier to get into a fight than to get out of +it. Better jog along our own way;" and then I preach him a short sermon +from Proverbs xxvi. 17: "He that passeth by, and meddleth with strife +belonging not to him, is like one that taketh a dog by the ears."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII" /><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99" />CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">THE MASSACRE OF CHURCH MUSIC.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>There has been an effort made for the last twenty years to kill +congregational singing. The attempt has been tolerably successful; but +it seems to me that some rules might be given by which the work could be +done more quickly, and completely. What is the use of having it +lingering on in this uncertain way? Why not put it out of its misery? If +you are going to kill a snake, kill it thoroughly, and do not let it +keep on wagging its tail till sundown. Congregational singing is a +nuisance, anyhow, to many of the people. It interferes with their +comfort. It offends their taste. It disposes their nose to flexibility +in the upward direction. It is too democratic in its tendency. Down with +congregational singing, and let us have no more of it.</p> + +<p>The first rule for killing it is to have only such tunes as the people +cannot sing!</p> + +<p>In some churches it is the custom for choirs at each service to sing one +tune which the people know. It is very generous of the choir to do that. +The people ought to be very thankful for the donation. They do not +deserve it. They are all "miserable offenders" (I heard them say so), +and, if permitted once in a service to sing, ought to think themselves +highly favored. But I oppose this singing of even the one tune that the +people understand. It spoils them. It gets them hankering after more. +Total abstinence is the only safety; for if you allow them to imbibe at +all, they will after a while get in the habit of drinking too much of +it, and the first thing you <a name="Page_100" id="Page_100" />know they will be going around drunk on +sacred psalmody.</p> + +<p>Beside that, if you let them sing one tune at a service, they will be +putting their oar into the other tunes and bothering the choir. There is +nothing more annoying to the choir than, at some moment when they have +drawn out a note to exquisite fineness, thin as a split hair, to have +some blundering elder to come in with a "Praise ye the Lord!" Total +abstinence, I say! Let all the churches take the pledge even against the +milder musical beverages; for they who tamper with champagne cider soon +get to Hock and old Burgundy.</p> + +<p>Now, if all the tunes are new, there will be no temptation to the +people. They will not keep humming along, hoping they will find some +bars down where they can break into the clover pasture. They will take +the tune as an inextricable conundrum, and give it up. Besides that, +Pisgah, Ortonville and Brattle Street are old fashioned. They did very +well in their day. Our fathers were simple-minded people, and the tunes +fitted them. But our fathers are gone, and they ought to have taken +their baggage with them. It is a nuisance to have those old tunes +floating around the church, and sometime, just as we have got the music +as fine as an opera, to have a revival of religion come, and some +new-born soul break out in "Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me!" till the +organist stamps the pedal with indignation, and the leader of the tune +gets red in the face and swears. Certainly anything that makes a man +swear is wrong—ergo, congregational singing is wrong. "Quod erat +demonstrandum;" which, being translated, means "Plain as the nose on a +man's face."</p> + +<p>What right have people to sing who know nothing about rhythmics, +melodies, dynamics? The <a name="Page_101" id="Page_101" />old tunes ought to be ashamed of themselves +when compared with our modern beauties. Let Dundee, and Portuguese Hymn, +and Silver Street hide their heads beside what we heard not long ago in +a church—just where I shall not tell. The minister read the hymn +beautifully. The organ began, and the choir sang, as near as I could +understand, as follows:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="poem">Oo—aw—gee—bah</span> +<span class="poem">Ah—me—la—he</span> +<span class="poem">O—pah—sah—dah</span> +<span class="poem">Wo—haw—gee-e-e-e.</span> +</div> + +<p>My wife, seated beside me, did not like the music. But I said: "What +beautiful sentiment! My dear, it is a pastoral. You might have known +that from 'Wo-haw-gee!' You have had your taste ruined by attending the +Brooklyn Tabernacle." The choir repeated the last line of the hymn four +times. Then the prima donna leaped on to the first line, and slipped, +and fell on to the second, and that broke and let her through into the +third. The other voices came in to pick her up, and got into a grand +wrangle, and the bass and the soprano had it for about ten seconds; but +the soprano beat (women always do), and the bass rolled down into the +cellar, and the soprano went up into the garret, but the latter kept on +squalling as though the bass, in leaving her, had wickedly torn out all +her back hair. I felt anxious about the soprano, and looked back to see +if she had fainted; but found her reclining in the arms of a young man +who looked strong enough to take care of her.</p> + +<p>Now, I admit that we cannot all have such things in our churches. It +costs like sixty. In the Church of the Holy Bankak it coats one hundred +dollars to have sung that communion, piece:<a name="Page_102" id="Page_102" /></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="poem">"Ye wretched, hungry, starving poor!"</span> +</div> + +<p>But let us come as near to it as we can. The tune "Pisgah" has been +standing long enough on "Jordan's stormy banks." Let it pass over and +get out of the wet weather. Good-bye, "Antioch," "Harwell" and +"Boylston." Good-bye till we meet in glory.</p> + +<p>But if the prescription of new tunes does not end congregational +singing, I have another suggestion. Get an irreligious choir, and put +them in a high balcony back of the congregation. I know choirs who are +made up chiefly of religious people, or those, at least, respectful for +sacred things. That will never do, if you want to kill the music. The +theatrical troupe are not busy elsewhere on Sabbath, and you can get +them at half price to sing the praises of the Lord. Meet them in the +green room at the close of the "Black Crook" and secure them. They will +come to church with opera-glasses, which will bring the minister so near +to them they can, from their high perch, look clear down his throat and +see his sermon before it is delivered. They will make excellent poetry +on Deacon Goodsoul as he carries around the missionary box. They will +write dear little notes to Gonzaldo, asking him how his cold is and how +he likes gum-drops. Without interfering with the worship below, they can +discuss the comparative fashionableness of the "basque" and the +"polonaise," the one lady vowing she thinks the first style is "horrid," +and the other saying she would rather die than be seen in the latter; +all this while the chorister is gone out during sermon to refresh +himself with a mint-julep, hastening back in time to sing the last hymn. +How much like heaven it will be when, at the close of a solemn service, +we are favored with snatches from Verdi's "Trovatore,"<a name="Page_103" id="Page_103" /> Meyerbeer's +"Huguenots" and Bellini's "Sonnambula," from such artists as</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="poem">Mademoiselle Squintelle,</span> +<span class="poem">Prima Donna Soprano, from Grand Opera House, Paris.</span> +<span class="poem">Signor Bombastani,</span> +<span class="poem">Basso Buffo, from Royal Italian Opera.</span> +<span class="poem">Carl Schneiderine,</span> +<span class="poem">First Baritone, of His Majesty's Theatre, Berlin.</span> +</div> + +<p>If after three months of taking these two prescriptions the +congregational singing is not thoroughly dead, send me a letter directed +to my name, with the title of O.F.M. (Old Fogy in Music), and I will, on +the receipt thereof, write Another prescription, which I am sure will +kill it dead as a door nail, and that is the deadest thing in all +history.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX" /><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104" />CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">THE BATTLE OF PEW AND PULPIT.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Two more sermons unloaded, and Monday morning I went sauntering down +town, ready for almost anything. I met several of my clerical friends +going to a ministers' meeting. I do not often go there, for I have found +that some of the clerical meetings are gridirons where they roast +clergymen who do not do things just as we do them. I like a Presbyterian +gridiron no better than a Methodist one, and prefer to either of them an +old-fashioned spit, such as I saw one summer in Oxford, England, where +the rabbit is kept turning round before a slow fire, in blessed state of +itinerancy, the rabbit thinking he is merely taking a ride, while he is +actually roasting.</p> + +<p>As on the Monday morning I spoke of I was passing down the street, I +heard high words in a church. What could it be? Was it the minister, and +the sexton, and the trustees fighting? I went in to see, when, lo! I +found that the Pew and the Pulpit were bantering each other at a great +rate, and seemed determined to tell each one the other's faults. I stood +still as a mouse that I might hear all that was said, and my presence +not be noticed.</p> + +<p>The Pew was speaking as I went in, and said to the Pulpit, in anything +but a reverential tone: "Why don't you speak out on other days as well +as you do to-day? The fact is, I never knew a Pulpit that could not be +heard when it was thoroughly mad. But when you give out the hymn on +Sabbaths, I cannot tell whether it is <a name="Page_105" id="Page_105" />the seventieth or the hundredth. +When you read the chapter, you are half through with it before I know +whether it is Exodus or Deuteronomy. Why do you begin your sermon in so +low a key? If the introduction is not worth hearing, it is not worth +delivering. Are you explaining the text? If so, the Lord's meaning is as +important as anything you will have in your sermon. Throw back your +shoulders, open your mouth! Make your voice strike against the opposite +wall! Pray not only for a clean heart, but for stout lungs. I have +nearly worn out my ears trying to catch your utterances. When a captain +on a battlefield gives an order, the company all hear; and if you want +to be an officer in the Lord's army, do not mumble your words. The +elocution of Christ's sermon is described when we are told he opened his +mouth and taught them—that is, spoke distinctly, as those cannot who +keep their lips half closed. Do you think it a sign of modesty to speak +so low? I think the most presuming thing on earth for a Pulpit to do is +to demand that an audience sit quiet when they cannot hear, simply +looking. The handsomest minister I ever saw is not worth looking at for +an hour and a half at a stretch. The truth is that I have often been so +provoked with your inarticulate speech, that I would have got up and +left the church, had it not been for the fact that I am nailed fast, and +my appearance on the outside on a Sabbath-day, walking up and down, +would have brought around me a crowd of unsanctified boys to gaze at me, +a poor church pew on its travels."</p> + +<p>The Pulpit responded in anything but a pious tone: "The reason you do +not hear is that your mind on Sundays is full of everything but the +gospel. You work so hard during the week that you rob the Lord of his +twenty-four hours. The man who works on Sunday as well as the rest of +<a name="Page_106" id="Page_106" />the week is no worse than you who abstain on that day, because your +excessive devotion to business during the week kills your Sunday; and a +dead Sunday is no Sunday at all. You throw yourself into church as much +as to say, 'Here, Lord, I am too tired to work any more for myself; you +can have the use of me while I am resting!' Besides that, O Pew! you +have a miserable habit. Even when you can hear my voice on the Sabbath +and are wide awake, you have a way of putting your head down or shutting +your eyes, and looking as if your soul had vacated the premises for six +weeks. You are one of those hearers who think it is pious to look dull; +and you think that the Pew on the other side the aisle is an old sinner +because he hunches the Pew behind him, and smiles when the truth hits +the mark. If you want me to speak out, it is your duty not only to be +wide awake, but to look so. Give us the benefit of your two eyes. There +is one of the elders whose eyes I have never caught while speaking, save +once, and that was when I was preaching from Psalm cxiii. 12, 'They +compassed me about like bees,' and by a strange coincidence a bumble-bee +got into church, and I had my attention divided between my text and the +annoying insect, which flew about like an illustration I could not +catch. A dull Pew is often responsible for a dull Pulpit. Do not put +your head down on the back of the seat in front, pretending you are very +much affected with the sermon, for we all know you are napping."</p> + +<p>The Pew: "If you want me to be alert, give me something fresh and +startling. Your sermons all sound alike. It don't make any difference +where you throw the net, you never fish up anything but moss-bunkers. +You are always talking about stale things. Why don't you give us <a name="Page_107" id="Page_107" />a +touch, of learned discussion, such as the people hear every Sunday in +the church of Reverend Doctor Heavyasbricks, when, with one eye on +heaven and the other on the old man in the gallery, he speaks of the +Tridentine theory of original sin, and Patristic Soteriology, Mediæval +Trinitarianism, and Antiochian Anthropology? Why do you not give us some +uncommon words, and instead of 'looking back upon your subject,' +sometimes 'recapitulate,' and instead of talking about a man's +'peculiarities,' mention his 'idiot-sin-crasies,' and describe the hair +as the capillary adornment; and instead of speaking of a thing as tied +together, say it was 'inosculated.'"</p> + +<p>The Pulpit: "You keep me so poor I cannot buy the books necessary to +keep me fresh. After the babies are clothed, and the table is provided +for, and the wardrobe supplied, my purse is empty, and you know the best +carpenter cannot make good shingles without tools. Better pay up your +back salary instead of sitting there howling at me. You eased your +conscience by subscribing for the support of the gospel, but the Lord +makes no record of what a man subscribes; he waits to see whether he +pays. The poor widow with the two mites is applauded in Scripture +because she paid cash down. I have always noticed that you Pews make a +big noise about Pulpit deficiencies, just in proportion to the little +you do. The fifty cents you pay is only premium on your policy of five +dollars' worth of grumbling. O critical Pew! you had better scour the +brass number on your own door before you begin to polish the silver knob +on mine."</p> + +<p>The Pew: "I think it is time for you to go away. I am glad that +conference is coming. I shall see the bishop, and have you removed to +some other part of the Lord's vineyard. You are too plain a Pulpit for +such an elegant Pew.<a name="Page_108" id="Page_108" /> Just look at your big hands and feet. We want a +spiritual guide whose fingers taper to a fine point, and one who could +wear, if need be, a lady's shoe. Get out, with your great paws and +clodhoppers! We want in this church a Pulpit that will talk about +heaven, and make no allusion to the other place. I have a highly +educated nose, and can stand the smell of garlic and assafoetida better +than brimstone. We want an oleaginous minister, commonly called oily. We +want him distinguished for his unctuosity. We want an ecclesiastical +scent-bag, or, as you might call him, a heavenly nosegay, perfect in +every respect, his ordinary sneeze as good as a doxology. If he cry +during some emotional part of his discourse, let it not be an +old-fashioned cry, with big hands or coat sleeve sopping up the tears, +but let there be just two elegant tears, one from each eye, rolling down +parallel into a pocket-handkerchief richly embroidered by the sewing +society, and inscribed with the names of all the young ladies' Bible +class. If he kneel before sermon, let it not be a coming down like a +soul in want, but on one knee, so artistically done that the foot shall +show the twelve-dollar patent leather shoe, while the aforesaid +pocket-handkerchief is just peeping from the coat pocket, to see if the +ladies who made it are all there—the whole scene a religious tableau. +We want a Pulpit that will not get us into a tearing-down revival, where +the people go shouting and twisting about, regardless of carpets and +fine effects, but a revival that shall be born in a band-box, and +wrapped in ruffles, and lie on a church rug, so still that nobody will +know it is there. If we could have such a Pulpit as that, all my +fellow-Pews would join me, and we would give it a handsome support; yes, +we would pay him; if we got just what we want, we could afford to give, +in case <a name="Page_109" id="Page_109" />he were thoroughly eloquent, Demosthenic and bewitching—I am +quite certain we could, although I should not want myself to be held +responsible; yes, he should have eight hundred dollars a year, and that +is seven hundred and sixty dollars more than Milton got for his +'Paradise Lost,' about which one of his learned contemporaries wrote: +'The old blind schoolmaster, John Milton, hath published a tedious poem +on the fall of man; if its length be not considered a merit, it has no +other.' Nothing spoils ministers like too big a salary. Jeshurun waxed +fat and kicked; if it had not been for the wax and the fat, he would not +have kicked. Sirloin steaks and mince pies are too rich for ministers. +Put these men down on catfish and flounders, as were the fishermen +apostles. Too much oats makes horses frisky, and a minister high-fed is +sure to get his foot over the shaft. If we want to keep our pulpits +spiritual, we must keep them poor. Blessed are the poor!"</p> + +<p>"Stop! stop!" cried the Pulpit; and it seemed to rise higher than +before, and to tremble from head to foot with excitement, and the +banisters to twist as if to fly in indignation at the Pew, and the plush +on the book-board to look red as fire; and seeing there was going to be +a collision between Pulpit and Pew, I ran up the aisle and got between +them (they were wide enough apart to allow me to get in), and I cried, +"Silence! This is great talk for a church. Pulpits ought not to scold, +and Pews ought not to grumble. As far as I can see, you are both to +blame. Better shake hands and pray for a better spirit. It wants more +than a bishop to settle this difficulty. The Lord Almighty alone can +make Pulpit and Pew what they ought to be. You both need to be baptized +over again!" Then, taking up a silver bowl that stood on the communion +table, <a name="Page_110" id="Page_110" />half full of the water yesterday used at a babe's christening, I +stood between the belligerents, and sprinkled Pew and Pulpit with a +Christian baptism, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy +Ghost. And when I got through, I could not tell whether Pew or Pulpit +said Amen the louder.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX" /><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111" />CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">THE DEVIL'S GRIST-MILL.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>The above name has been given to one of the geysers of California, that +group of boiling springs, now famous. Indeed, the whole region has been +baptized with Satanic nomenclature.</p> + +<p>The guide showed us what he called the "Devil's Mush-pot," the "Devil's +Pulpit," the "Devil's Machine Shop," and, hearing a shrill whistle in +the distance, we were informed it was the "Devil's Tea-kettle." Seeing +some black water rushing from a fountain, from which the people of the +neighborhood and tourists dip up genuine ink, we were told it was the +"Devil's Ink-stand." Indeed, you are prepared for this on the Pacific +Railroad, as your guide book points you to the "Devil's Gate," and the +"Devil's Slide," and the "Devil's Peak."</p> + +<p>We protest against this surrender of all the geysers to the arch demon. +All the writers talk of the place as infernal. We do not believe this +place so near to hell as to heaven. We doubt if Satan ever comes here. +He knows enough of hot climates, by experience, to fly from the hiss of +these subterraneous furnaces. Standing amid the roaring, thundering, +stupendous wonder of two hundred spouting water springs, we felt like +crying out, "Great and marvelous are thy works, Lord God almighty!"</p> + +<p>Let all the chemists and geologists of the world come and see the +footstep of God in crystals of alum and sulphur and salt. Here is the +chemist's shop of the continent. Enough black indelible ink rushes out +of this well, with terrific plash, <a name="Page_112" id="Page_112" />to supply all the scribes of the +world. There are infinite fortunes for those who will delve for the +borax, nitric and sulphuric acid, soda, magnesia and other valuables. +Enough sulphur here to purify the blood of the race, or in gunpowder to +kill it; enough salt to savor all the vegetables of the world. Its acid +water, which waits only for a little sugar to make it delicious +lemonade, may yet be found in all the drug stores of the country. The +water in one place roars like a steamboat discharging its steam. Your +boots curl with the heat as you stand on the hot rocks, looking. Almost +anywhere a thrust of your cane will evoke a gush of steam. Our +thermometer, plunged into one spring, answered one hundred and +seventy-five degrees of heat. Thrust in the "Witch's Caldron," it +asserted two hundred and fifteen degrees. "The Ink-stand" declared +itself two hundred degrees. An artificial whistle placed at the mouth of +one of these geysers may be heard miles away. You get a hot bath without +paying for it. The guide warns you off the crust in certain places, lest +you at the same moment be drowned and boiled. Here an egg cooks hard in +three minutes.</p> + +<p>The whole scene is unique and incomparable. The Yosemite makes us think +of the Alps; San Francisco reminds us of Chicago; Foss, the stage +driver, hurling his passengers down the mountain at break-neck speed, +suggests the driver of an Alpine diligence; Hutchings' mountain horse, +that stumbled and fell flat upon us, suggested our mule-back experiences +in Tête Noir Pass of Switzerland; but the geysers remind us of nothing +that we ever saw, or ever expect to see. They have a voice, a bubble, a +smoke, a death-rattle, peculiar to themselves. No photographist can +picture them, no words describe them, no fancy sketch them.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113" />You may visit them by either of two routes; but do not take the advice +of Foss, the celebrated stage driver. You ought to go by one route, and +return the other; yet Foss has made thousands of travelers believe that +the only safe and interesting way to return is the way they go—namely, +by his route. They who take his counsel miss some of the grandest +scenery on the continent. Any stage driver who by his misrepresentations +would shut a tourist out of the entrancing beauties of the "Russian +Valley" ought to be thrashed with his own raw-hide. We heard Foss +bamboozling a group of travelers with the idea that on the other route +the roads were dangerous, the horses poor, the accommodations wretched +and the scenery worthless. We came up in time to combat the statement +with our own happy experiences of the Russian Valley, and to save his +passengers from the oft-repeated imposition.</p> + +<p>And thus I have suggested the chief annoyance of California travel. The +rivalries of travel are so great that it is almost impossible to get +accurate information. The stage drivers, guides and hotel proprietors, +for the most part, are financially interested in different routes. Going +to Yosemite Valley by the "Calaveras route," from the office in San +Francisco where you buy your ticket to the end of your journey, +everybody assures you that J.M. Hutchings, one of the hotel keepers of +Yosemite, is a scholar, a poet, a gentleman and a Christian, and that to +him all the world is indebted for the opening of the valley. But if you +go in by the "Mariposa route," then from the office where you get your +ticket, along by all the way stations and through the mountain passes, +you are assured that Mr. Liedig, the hotel keeper of Yosemite, is the +poet and Christian, and that J.M. Hutchings aforesaid is a nobody, a +blower, a dead beat, the chief impediment to the <a name="Page_114" id="Page_114" />interests of +Yosemite—or, to use a generic term, a scalawag.</p> + +<p>The fact is that no one can afford in California to take the same route +twice, for each one has a glory of its own. If a traveler have but one +day for the Louvre Gallery, he cannot afford to spend it all in one +corridor; and as California is one great picture gallery, filled with +the masterpieces of Him who paints with sunshine and dew and fire, and +sculptures with chisel of hurricane and thunderbolt, we cannot afford to +pass more than once before any canvas or marble.</p> + +<p>But whatever route you choose for the "Hot Springs," and whatever pack +of stage driver yarns you accept, know this—that in all this matchless +California, with climate of perpetual summer, the sky cloudless and the +wind blowing six months from the genial west; the open field a safe +threshing floor for the grandest wheat harvests of the world; nectarines +and pomegranates and pears in abundance that perish for lack of enough +hands to pick; by a product in one year of six million five hundred +thousand gallons of wine proving itself the vineyard of this hemisphere; +African callas, and wild verbenas, and groves of oleander and nutmeg; +the hills red with five thousand cattle in a herd, and white with a +hundred and fifty thousand sheep in a flock; the neighboring islands +covered with wild birds' eggs, that enrich the markets, or sounding with +the constant "yoi-hoi," "yoi-hoi," of the sea-lions that tumble over +them; a State that might be called the "Central Park" of the world; the +gulches of gold pouring more than fifty million of dollars a year into +the national lap; lofty lakes, like Tahoe, set crystalline in the crown +of the mountain; waterfalls so weird that you do not wonder that the +Indians think that whosoever points his finger at them must die, and in +<a name="Page_115" id="Page_115" />one place the water plunging from a height more than sixteen times +greater than Niagara,—even in such a country of marvels as this, there +is nothing that makes you ask more questions, or bow in profounder awe, +or come away with more interesting reminiscences than the world renowned +California geysers.</p> + +<p>There is a bang at your bed-room door at five-o'clock in the morning, +rousing you to go up and explore them; and after spending an hour or two +in wandering among them, you come back to the breakfast prepared by the +model landlord of California, jolly, obliging, intelligent, reasonable. +As you mount the stage for departure you give him a warm shake of the +hand, and suggest that it would be a grand thing if some one with a vein +of poetry in his mind and the faith of God in his heart would come round +some day, and passing among the geysers with a sprinkle of hot steam, +would baptize them with a Christian name.</p> + +<p>Let us ascribe to Satan nothing that is grand, or creative, or wise. He +could not make one of these grains of alum. He could not blow up one of +these bubbles on the spring. He does some things that seem smart; but +taking him all in all, he is the biggest fool in the universe.</p> + +<p>If the devil wants to boil his "Tea-kettle," or stir his "Mush-pot," or +whirl his "Grist-mill," let him do it in his own territory. Meanwhile, +let the water and the fire and the vapor, at the lift of David's +orchestral baton, praise the Lord!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI" /><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116" />CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">THE CONDUCTOR'S DREAM.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>He had been on the train all day, had met all kinds of people, received +all sorts of treatment, punctured all kinds of tickets, shouted "All +out!" and "All aboard!" till throat, and head, and hand, and foot were +weary. It would be a long while before we would get to another depot, +and so he sagged down in the corner of the car to sleep. He was in the +most uncomfortable position possible. The wind blew in his neck, his arm +was hung over the back of the seat, he had one foot under him, and his +knee pressing hard against a brass hinge. In that twisted and convoluted +position he fell asleep, and soon began to dream.</p> + +<p>It seemed to him, in his sleep, that the car was full of disagreeables. +Here was a man who persisted in having a window up, while the rain and +sleet drove in. There was a man who occupied the whole seat, and let the +ladies stand. Here sat a man smoking three poor cigars at once, and +expectorating into the beaver hat of the gentleman in front. Yonder was +a burglar on his way to jail, and opposite a murderer going to the +gallows. He thought that pickpockets took his watch and ruffians refused +to pay their fare. A woman traveling alone shot at him a volley of +questions: "Say, conductor, how long before we will get to the +Junction?" "Are you sure we have not passed it?" "Do you always stop +there?" "What time is it?" Madam, do keep quiet! "None of your +impudence!" "How far from here to the Junction?" "Do you think <a name="Page_117" id="Page_117" />that +other train will wait?" "Do you think we will get there in time?" "Say, +conductor, how many miles yet?" "Are you looking out?" "Now, you won't +let me go past, will you?" "Here! conductor, here! Help me out with my +carpet bag, and band-box, and shawl, and umbrella, and this bundle of +sausage and head-cheese." What was worse, the train got going one +hundred and fifty miles an hour, and pulling the connecting rope, it +broke, and the cars got off the track, and leaped on again, and the +stove changed places with the wood box, and things seemed going to +terrible split and unmitigated smash. The cities flew past. The brakes +were powerless. The whistle grew into a fiend's shriek. Then the train +began to slow up, and sheeted ghosts swung lanterns along the track, and +the cars rolled into a white depot, which turned out to be a great +marble tomb; and looking back to see his passengers, they were all stark +dead, frozen in upright horror to the car backs.</p> + +<p>Hearing by the man's snore, and seeing by his painful look, he was +having an awful dream, we tapped him on the shoulder and said, +"Conductor! Turn over that seat, and take my shawl, and stretch yourself +out, and have a comfortable nap." "Thank you, sir," he said, and +immediately sprawled himself out in the easiest way possible. He began +his slumbers just as an express train glides gracefully out of Pittsburg +depot; then went at it more earnestly, lifted all the brakes, put on all +the steam, and in five minutes was under splendid headway. He began a +second dream, but it was the opposite of the first. He thought that he +had just stepped on the platform of his car, and a lady handed him a +bouquet fresh from the hot house. A long line of railroad presidents and +superintendents had <a name="Page_118" id="Page_118" />come to the depot to see him off, and tipped their +hats as he glided out into the open air. The car was an improvement on +Pullman's best. Three golden goblets stood at the end, and every time he +turned the spigot of the water cask, it foamed soda-water—vanilla if +you turned it one way, strawberry if you turned it the other. The +spittoon was solid silver, and had never been used but once, when a +child threw into it an orange peeling. The car was filled with lords and +duchesses, who rose and bowed as he passed through to collect the fare. +They all insisted on paying twice as much as was demanded, telling him +to give half to the company and keep the rest for himself. Stopped a few +minutes at Jolly Town, Gleeville and Velvet Junction, making connection +with the Grand Trunk and Pan-Handle route for Paradise. But when the +train halted there was no jolt, and when it started there was no jerk. +The track was always clear, no freight train in the way, no snow bank to +be shoveled—train always on time. Banks of roses on either side, +bridges with piers of bronze, and flagmen clad in cloth-of-gold. The +train went three hundred miles the hour, but without any risk, for all +the passengers were insured against accident in a company that was +willing to pay four times the price of what any neck was worth. The +steam whistle breathed as sweetly as any church choir chanting its +opening piece. Nobody asked the conductor to see his time-table, for the +only dread any passenger had was that of coming to the end of its +journey.</p> + +<p>As night came on the self-adjusting couches spread themselves on either +side; patent bootjacks rolled up and took your boots off; unseen fingers +tucked the damask covers all about you, and the porter took your +pocket-book to keep till morning, returning it then with twice what you +<a name="Page_119" id="Page_119" />had in it at nightfall. After a while the train slackens to one hundred +and seventy-five miles an hour, and the conductor, in his dream, +announces that they are coming near the terminus. More brakes are +dropped and they are running but ninety miles the hour; and some one, +looking out of the window, says, "How slow we go!" "Yes," says the +conductor, "we are holding up." Now they have almost stopped, going at +only seventy miles the hour. The long line of depot lamps are flashing +along the track. On the platform of the station are the lovers who are +waiting for their betrothed, and parents who have come down to greet +their children, returned with a fortune, and wives who have not been +able to eat or drink since their spouses went away three weeks before. +As the cushioned train flashes into the depot and stops, wedding bells +peal, and the gong of many banquets sounds, and white arms are flung +about necks, reckless of mistake, and innumerable percussions of +affection echo through the depot, so crisp and loud that they wake the +conductor, who thought that the boisterous smack was on his own cheek, +but finds that he is nothing but a bachelor railroad man, with a +lantern, at midnight getting out into a snow bank.</p> + +<p>Application: Get an easy position when you sleep, if you have any choice +between angels and gorgons. At midnight, seizing a chair, I ran into the +next room, resolving to kill, at the first stroke, the ruffian who was +murdering a member of my household. But there was no ruffian. The sweet +girl had, during the day, been reading of St. Bartholomew's massacre, +and was now lying on her back, dreaming it all over again. When dreams +find anyone lying flat on the back, they cry out, "Here is a flat +surface on which to skate and play ball," and from scalp to toe they +sport <a name="Page_120" id="Page_120" />themselves. The hardest nag in all the world to ride is the +nightmare. Many think that sleep is lost time. But the style of your +work will be mightily affected by the style of your slumber. Sound +Asleep is sister of Wide Awake. Adam was the only man who ever lost a +rib by napping too soundly; but when he woke up, he found that, instead +of the twelve ribs with which he started, he really had nigh two dozen. +By this I prove that sleep is not subtraction, but addition. This very +night may that angel put balm on both your eyelids five minutes after +you touch the pillow!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII" /><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121" />CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">PUSH & PULL.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>We have long been acquainted with a business firm whose praises have +never been sung. I doubt whether their names are ever mentioned on +Exchange. They seem to be doing more business and have more branch +houses than the Stewarts or Lippincotts. You see their names almost +everywhere on the door. It is the firm of Push & Pull. They generally +have one of their partners' names on outside of the door, and the other +on the inside: "Push" on the outside and "Pull" on the inside. I have +found their business-houses in New York, Brooklyn, Philadelphia, Boston, +London and Edinburgh. It is under my eye, whether I go to buy a hat, a +shawl, or a paper of pins, or watch, or ream of foolscap. They are in +all kinds of business; and from the way they branch out, and put up new +stores, and multiply their signboards on the outside and inside of +doors, I conclude that the largest business firm on earth to-day is Push +& Pull.</p> + +<p>When these gentlemen join the church, they make things go along +vigorously. The roof stops leaking; a new carpet blooms on the church +floor; the fresco is retouched; the high pulpit is lowered till it comes +into the same climate with the pew; strangers are courteously seated; +the salary of the minister is paid before he gets hopelessly in debt to +butcher and baker; and all is right, financially and spiritually, +because Push & Pull have connected themselves with the enterprise.</p> + +<p>A new parsonage is to be built, but the move<a name="Page_122" id="Page_122" />ment does not get started. +Eight or ten men of slow circulation of blood and stagnant liver put +their hands on the undertaking, but it will not budge. The proposed +improvement is about to fail when Push comes up behind it and gives it a +shove, and Pull goes in front and lays into the traces; and, lo! the +enterprise advances, the goal is reached! And all the people who had +talked about the improvement, but done nothing toward it, invite the +strangers who come to town to go up and see "our" parsonage.</p> + +<p>Push & Pull are wide-awake men. They never stand round with their hands +in their pockets, as though feeling for money that they cannot find. +They have made up their minds that there is a work for them to do; and +without wasting any time in reverie, they go to work and do it. They +start a "life insurance company." Push is the president, and Pull the +secretary. Before you know it, all the people are running in to have +their lungs sounded, and to tell how many times they have had the +rheumatism; how old they are; whether they ever had fits; and at what +age their father and mother expired; and putting all the family secrets +on paper, and paying Push & Pull two hundred dollars to read it. When +this firm starts a clothing house, they make a great stir in the city. +They advertise in such strong and emphatic way that the people are +haunted with the matter, and dream about it, and go round the block to +avoid that store door, lest they be persuaded in and induced to buy +something they cannot afford. But some time the man forgets himself, and +finds he is in front of the new clothing store, and, at the first +gleaner of goods in the show window, is tempted to enter. Push comes up +behind him, and Pull comes up before him, and the man is convinced of +the shabbiness of his present appearance—that his <a name="Page_123" id="Page_123" />hat will not do, +that his coat and vest and all the rest of his clothes, clean down to +his shoes, are unfit; and before one week is past, a boy runs up the +steps of this customer with a pasteboard box marked, "From the clothing +establishment of Push & Pull. C.O.D."</p> + +<p>These men can do anything they set their hands to—publish a newspaper, +lay out a street, build a house, control a railroad, manage a church, +revolutionize a city. In fact, any two industrious, honorable, +enterprising men can accomplish wonders. One does the out-door work of +the store, and the other the indoor work. One leads, the other follows; +but both working in one direction, all obstacles are leveled before +them.</p> + +<p>I wish that more of our young men could graduate from the store of Push +& Pull. We have tens of thousands of young men doing nothing. There must +be work somewhere if they will only do it. They stand round, with soap +locks and scented pocket-handkerchiefs, tipping their hats to the +ladies; while, instead of waiting for business to come to them, they +ought to go to work and make a business. Here is the ladder of life. The +most of those who start at the top of the ladder spend their life in +coming down, while those who start at the bottom may go up. Those who +are born with a gold spoon in their mouth soon lose the spoon. The two +school bullies that used to flourish their silk pocket-handkerchiefs in +my face, and with their ivory-handled, four-bladed knives punch holes +through my kite—one of them is in the penitentiary, and the other ought +to be.</p> + +<p>Young man, the road of life is up hill, and our load heavy. Better take +off your kid gloves, and patent leathers, and white vest, and ask Push, +with his stout shoulder, and Pull, with his strong grip, to help you. +Energy, pluck, <a name="Page_124" id="Page_124" />courage, obstinate determination are to be cultured. Eat +strong meat, drop pastries, stop reading sickly novelettes, pray at both +ends of the day and in the middle, look a man in the eye when you talk +to him, and if you want to be a giant keep your head out of the lap of +indulgences that would put a pair of shears through your locks.</p> + +<p>If you cannot get the right kind of business partner, marry a good, +honest wife. Fine cheeks and handsome curls are very well, but let them +be mere incidentals. Let our young men select practical women; there are +a few of them left. With such a one you can get on with almost all heavy +loads of life. You will be Pull, and she Push; and if you do not get the +house built and the fortune established, send me word, and I will tear +this article up in such small pieces that no one will ever be able to +find it.</p> + +<p>Life is earnest work, and cannot be done with the tips of the fingers. +We want more crowbars and fewer gold toothpicks. The obstacles before +you cannot be looked out of countenance by a quizzing glass. Let sloth +and softliness go to the wall, but three cheers for Push & Pull, and all +their branch business houses!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII" /><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125" />CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">BOSTONIANS.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>We ran up to the Boston anniversaries to cast our vote with those good +people who are in that city on the side of the right. We like to go to +the modern Athens two or three times a year. Among other advantages, +Boston always soothes our nerves. It has a quieting effect upon us. The +people there are better satisfied than any people we know of. Judging +from a few restless spirits who get on some of the erratic platforms of +that city, and who fret and fume about things in general, the world has +concluded that Boston is at unrest. But you may notice that the most of +the restless people who go there are imported speakers, whom Boston +hires to come once a year and do for her all the necessary fretting.</p> + +<p>The genuine Bostonian is satisfied. He rises moderately early, goes to +business without any especial haste, dresses comfortably, talks +deliberately, lunches freely, and goes home to his family at plausible +hours. He would like to have the world made better, but is not going to +make himself sick in trying to cure the moral ailments of others.</p> + +<p>The genuine Bostonian is, for the most part, pleased with himself, has +confidence that the big elm will last another hundred years, keeps his +patriotism fresh by an occasional walk near the meat market under +Faneuil Hall, and reads the "Atlantic Monthly." We believe there is less +fidgeting in Boston than in any city of the country. We think that the +average of human life must be longer there than in most cities.<a name="Page_126" id="Page_126" /> +Dyspepsia is a rarity; for when a mutton chop is swallowed of a +Bostonian it gives up, knowing that there is no need of fighting against +such inexorable digestion.</p> + +<p>The ladies of Boston have more color in their cheeks than those of many +cities, and walk as though they would live to get round the next corner. +It is not so fashionable to be delicate. They are robust in mind and +always ready for an argument. State what you consider an indisputable +proposition, and they will say: "Yes, but then—" They are not afraid to +attack the theology of a minister, or the jurisprudence of a lawyer, or +the pharmacy of a doctor. If you do not look out, the Boston woman will +throw off her shawl and upset your logic in a public meeting.</p> + +<p>We like the men and women of Boston. They have opinions about +everything—some of them adverse to your own, but even in that case so +well expressed that, in admiration for the rhetoric, you excuse the +divergence of sentiment. We never found a half-and-half character in +Boston. The people do not wait till they see which way the smoke of +their neighbors' chimneys blows before they make up their own minds.</p> + +<p>The most conspicuous book on the parlor table of the hotels of other +cities is a book of engravings or a copy of the Bible. In some of the +Boston hotels, the prominent book on the parlor table is "Webster's +Unabridged Dictionary." You may be left in doubt about the Bostonian's +character, but need not doubt his capacity to parse a sentence, or spell +without any resemblance of blunder the word "idiosyncrasy."</p> + +<p>Boston, having made up its mind, sticks to it. Many years ago it decided +that the religious societies ought to hold a public anniversary in June, +and it never wavers. New York is tired <a name="Page_127" id="Page_127" />of these annual demonstrations, +and goes elsewhere; but in the early part of every June, Boston puts its +umbrella under its arm and starts for Tremont Temple, or Music Hall, +determined to find an anniversary, and finds it. You see on the stage +the same spectacles that shone on the speakers ten years ago, and the +same bald heads, for the solid men of Boston got in the way of wearing +their hair thin in front a quarter of a century ago, and all the solid +men of Boston will, for the next century, wear their hair thin in front.</p> + +<p>There are fewer dandies in Boston than in most cities. Clothes, as a +general thing, do not make fun of the people they sit on. The humps on +the ladies' backs are not within two feet of being as high as in some of +the other cities, and a dromedary could look at them without thinking +itself caricatured. You see more of the outlandishness of fashion in one +day on Broadway than in a week on any one street of Boston. Doubtless, +Boston is just as proud as New York, but her pride is that of brains, +and those, from the necessities of the case, are hidden.</p> + +<p>Go out on the fashionable drive of Boston, and you find that the horses +are round limbed, and look as well satisfied as their owners. A restless +man always has a thin horse. He does not give the creature time to eat, +wears out on him so many whip lashes, and keeps jerking perpetually at +the reins. Boston horses are, for the most part, fat, feel their oats, +and know that the eyes of the world are upon them. You see, we think it +no dishonor to a minister to admire good horses, provided he does not +trade too often, and impose a case of glanders and bots on his +unsophisticated neighbor. We think that, as a minister is set up for an +example to his flock, he ought to have the best horse in the +congregation.<a name="Page_128" id="Page_128" /> A minister is no more sacred when riding behind a +spavined and ringboned nag than when whirling along after a horse that +can swallow a mile in 2.30.</p> + +<p>The anniversary week in Boston closed by a display of flowers and fruits +in Horticultural Hall. It was appropriate that philanthropists and +Christians, hot from discussions of moral and religious topics, should +go in and take a bath of rose leaves and geraniums. Indeed, I think the +sweetest anniversary of the week was that of these flowers. A large +rhododendron presided. Azaleas and verbenas took part in the meeting. +The Chinese honeysuckle and clematis joined in the doxology. A magnolia +pronounced the benediction. And we went home praying for the time when +the lily of the valley shall be planted in every heart, and the desert +shall blossom as the rose.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV" /><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129" />CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">JONAH VERSUS THE WHALE.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Unbelievers have often told us that the story of the prophet swallowed +by a great fish was an absurdity. They say that, so long in the stomach +of the monster, the minister would have been digested. We have no +difficulty in this matter. Jonah, was a most unwilling guest of the +whale. He wanted to get out. However much he may have liked fish, he did +not want it three times a day and all the time. So he kept up a fidget, +and a struggle, and a turning over, and he gave the whale no time to +assimilate him. The man knew that if he was ever to get out he must be +in perpetual motion. We know men that are so lethargic they would have +given the matter up, and lain down so quietly that in a few hours they +would have gone into flukes and fish bones, blow-holes and blubber.</p> + +<p>Now we see men all around us who have been swallowed by monstrous +misfortunes. Some of them sit down on a piece of whalebone and give up. +They say: "No use! I will never get back my money, or restore my good +name, or recover my health." They float out to sea and are never again +heard of. Others, the moment they go down the throat of some great +trouble, begin immediately to plan for egress. They make rapid estimate +of the length of the vertebrate, and come to the conclusion how far they +are in. They dig up enough spermaceti out of the darkness to make a +light, and keep turning this way and that, till the first you know they +are out. Determination to get well has much to do with <a name="Page_130" id="Page_130" />recovered +invalidism. Firm will to defeat bankruptcy decides financial +deliverance. Never surrender to misfortune or discouragement. You can, +if you are spry enough, make it as uncomfortable for the whale as the +whale can make it uncomfortable for you. There will be some place where +you can brace your foot against his ribs, and some long upper tooth +around which you may take hold, and he will be as glad to get rid of you +for tenant as you are to get rid of him for landlord. There is a way, if +you are determined to find it. All our sympathies are with the plaintiff +in the suit of Jonah versus Leviathan.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV" /><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131" />CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">SOMETHING UNDER THE SOFA.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Not more than twenty-five miles from New York city, and not more than +two years ago, there stood a church in which occurred a novelty. We +promised not to tell; but as we omit all names, we think ourselves +warranted in writing the sketch. The sacred edifice had stood more than +a hundred years, until the doors were rickety, and often stood open +during the secular week. The window glass in many places had been broken +out. The shingles were off and the snow drifted in, and the congregation +during a shower frequently sat under the droppings of the sanctuary. All +of which would have been a matter for sympathy, had it not been for the +fact that the people of the neighborhood were nearly all wealthy, and +lived in large and comfortable farm houses, making the appearance of +their church a fit subject for satire.</p> + +<p>The pulpit was giving way with the general wreck, was unpainted, and the +upholstery on book-board and sofa seemed calling out with Jew's voice, +"Any old clo'? Any old clo'?" One Sabbath, the minister felt some +uneasiness under the sofa while the congregation were singing, and could +not imagine the cause; but found out the next day that a maternal cat +had made her nest there with her group of offspring, who had entered +upon mortal life amid these honorable surroundings.</p> + +<p>Highly-favored kittens! If they do not turn out well, it will not be the +fault of their mother, who took them so early under good influences.<a name="Page_132" id="Page_132" /> In +the temple of old the swallow found a nest for herself where she might +lay her young; but this is the first time we ever knew of the conference +of such honors on the Felis domestica. It could not have been anything +mercenary that took the old cat into the pulpit, for "poor as a church +mouse" has become proverbial. Nothing but lofty aspirations could have +taken her there, and a desire that her young should have advantages of +high birth. If in the "Historical Society" there are mummied cats two +thousand years old, much more will post-mortem honors be due this +ecclesiastical Pussy.</p> + +<p>We see many churches in city as well as town that need rehabilitation +and reconstruction. People of a neighborhood have no right to live in +houses better constructed than their church. Better touch up the fresco, +and put on a new roof, and tear out the old pews which ignore the shape +of a man's back, and supersede the smoky lamps by clarified kerosene or +cheap gas brackets. Lower you high pulpit that your preacher may come +down from the Mont Blanc of his isolation and solitariness into the same +climate of sympathy with his audience. Tear away the old sofa, ragged +and spring-broken, on which the pastors of forty years have been obliged +to sit, and see whether there are any cats in your antediluvian pulpit.</p> + +<p>Would it not be well for us all to look under our church sofas and see +if there be anything lurking there that we do not suspect? A cat, in all +languages, has been the symbol of deceit and spitefulness, and she is +more fit for an ash barrel than a pulpit. Since we heard that story of +feline nativity, whenever we see a minister of religion, on some +question of Christian reform, skulking behind a barrier, and crawling +away into some half-and-half position on the subject of tem<a name="Page_133" id="Page_133" />perance or +oppression, and daring not to speak out, instead of making his pulpit a +height from which to hurl the truth against the enemies of God, turning +it into a cowardly hiding place, we say, "Another cat in the pulpit."</p> + +<p>Whenever we see a professed minister of religion lacking in frankness of +soul, deceitful in his friendship, shaking hands heartily when you meet +him, but in private taking every possible opportunity of giving you a +long, deep scratch, or in public newspapers giving you a sly dig with +the claw of his pen, we say: "Another cat in the pulpit!"</p> + +<p>Once a year let all our churches be cleaned with soap, and sand, and +mop, and scrubbing brush, and the sexton not forget to give one turn of +his broom under the pastor's chair. Would that with one bold and +emphatic "scat!" we could drive the last specimen of deceitfulness and +skulking from the American pulpit!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI" /><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134" />CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">THE WAY TO KEEP FRESH.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>How to get out of the old rut without twisting off the wheel, or +snapping the shafts, or breaking the horse's leg, is a question not more +appropriate to every teamster than to every Christian worker. Having +once got out of the old rut, the next thing is to keep out. There is +nothing more killing than ecclesiastical humdrum. Some persons do not +like the Episcopal Church because they have the same prayers every +Sabbath, but have we not for the last ten years been hearing the same +prayers over and over again, the product of a self-manufactured liturgy +that has not the thousandth part of the excellency of those petitions +that we hear in the Episcopal Church?</p> + +<p>In many of our churches sinners hear the same exhortations that they +have been hearing for the last fifteen years, so that the impenitent man +knows, the moment the exhorter clears his throat, just what is going to +be said; and the hearer himself is able to recite the exhortation as we +teach our children the multiplication table forward or backward. We +could not understand the doleful strain of a certain brother's prayer +till we found out that he composed it on a fast day during the yellow +fever in 1821, and has been using it ever since.</p> + +<p>There are laymen who do not like to hear a sermon preached the second +time who yet give their pastors the same prayer every week at the +devotional meeting—that is, fifty-two times the year, with occasional +slices of it between meals.<a name="Page_135" id="Page_135" /> If they made any spiritual advancement, +they would have new wants to express and new thanksgivings to offer. But +they have been for a decade of years stuck fast in the mud, and they +splash the same thing on you every week. We need a universal church +cleaning by which all canting and humdrum shall be scrubbed out.</p> + +<p>If we would keep fresh, let us make occasional excursions into other +circles than our own. Artists generally go with artists, farmers with +farmers, mechanics with mechanics, clergymen with clergymen, Christian +workers with Christian workers. But there is nothing that sooner +freshens one up than to get in a new group, mingling with people whose +thought and work run in different channels. For a change put the +minister on the hay rack and the farmer in the clergyman's study.</p> + +<p>Let us read books not in our own line. After a man has been delving in +nothing but theological works for three months, a few pages in the +Patent-office Report will do him more good than Doctor Dick on "The +Perseverance of the Saints." Better than this, as a diversion, is it to +have some department of natural history or art to which you may turn, a +case of shells or birds, or a season ticket to some picture gallery. If +you do nothing but play on one string of the bass viol, you will wear it +out and get no healthy tune. Better take the bow and sweep it clear +across in one grand swirl, bringing all four strings and all eight stops +into requisition.</p> + +<p>Let us go much into the presence of the natural world if we can get at +it. Especially if we live in great thoroughfares let us make occasional +flight to the woods and the mountains. Even the trees in town seem +artificial. They dare not speak where there are so many to listen, and +the hya<a name="Page_136" id="Page_136" />cinth and geranium in flower pots in the window seem to know +they are on exhibition. If we would once in a while romp the fields, we +would not have so many last year's rose leaves in our sermons, but those +just plucked, dewy and redolent.</p> + +<p>We cannot see the natural world through the books or the eyes of others. +All this talk about "babbling brooks" is a stereotyped humbug. Brooks +never "babble." To babble is to be unintelligent and imperfect of +tongue. But when the brooks speak, they utter lessons of beauty that the +dullest ear can understand. We have wandered from the Androscoggin in +Maine to the Tombigbee in Alabama, and we never found a brook, that +"babbled." The people babble who talk about them, not knowing what a +brook is. We have heard about the nightingale and the morning lark till +we tire of them. Catch for your next prayer meeting talk a chewink or a +brown thresher. It is high time that we hoist our church windows, +especially those over the pulpit, and let in some fresh air from the +fields and mountains.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII" /><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137" />CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">CHRISTMAS BELLS.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>The sexton often goes into the tower on a sad errand. He gives a strong +pull at the rope, and forth from the tower goes a dismal sound that +makes the heart sink. But he can now go up the old stairs with a lithe +step and pull quick and sharp, waking up all the echoes of cavern and +hill with Christmas bells. The days of joy have come, days of reunion, +days of congratulation. "Behold I bring you good tidings of great joy +that shall be to all people."</p> + +<p>First, let the bells ring at the birth of Jesus! Mary watching, the +camels moaning, the shepherds rousing up, the angels hovering, all +Bethlehem stirring. What a night! Out of its black wing is plucked the +pen from which to write the brightest songs of earth and the richest +doxologies of heaven. Let camel or ox stabled that night in Bethlehem, +after the burden-bearing of the day, stand and look at Him who is to +carry the burdens of the world. Put back the straw and hear the first +cry of Him who is come to assuage the lamentation of all ages.</p> + +<p>Christmas bells ring out the peace of nations! We want on our standards +less of the lion and eagle and more of the dove. Let all the cannon be +dismounted, and the war horses change their gorgeous caparisons for +plough harness. Let us have fewer bullets and more bread. Life is too +precious to dash it out against the brick casements. The first Peace +Society was born in the clouds, and its resolution was passed +unanimously <a name="Page_138" id="Page_138" />by angelic voices, "Peace on earth, good-will to men."</p> + +<p>Christmas bells ring in family reunions! The rail trains crowded with +children coming home. The poultry, fed as never since they were born, +stand wondering at the farmer's generosity. The markets are full of +massacred barnyards. The great table will be spread and crowded with +two, or three, or four generations. Plant the fork astride the breast +bone, and with skillful twitch, that we could never learn, give to all +the hungry lookers-on a specimen of holiday anatomy. Mary is disposed to +soar, give her the wing. The boy is fond of music, give him the drum +stick. The minister is dining with you, give him the parson's nose. May +the joy reach from grandfather, who is so dreadful old he can hardly +find the way to his plate, down to the baby in the high chair with one +smart pull of the table cloth upsetting the gravy into the cranberry. +Send from your table a liberal portion to the table of the poor, some of +the white meat as well as the dark, not confining your generosity to +gizzards and scraps. Do not, as in some families, keep a plate and chair +for those who are dead and gone. Your holiday feast would be but poor +fare for them; they are at a better banquet in the skies.</p> + +<p>Let the whole land be full of chime and carol. Let bells, silver and +brazen, take their sweetest voice, and all the towers of Christendom +rain music.</p> + +<p>We wish all our friends a merry Christmas. Let them hang up their +stockings; and if Santa Claus has any room for us in his sleigh, we will +get in and ride down their chimney, upsetting all over the hearth a +thousand good wishes.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII" /><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139" />CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">POOR PREACHING.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>There never was a time when in all denominations of Christians there was +so much attractive sermonizing as to-day. Princeton, and Middletown, and +Rochester, and New Brunswick, are sending into the ministry a large +number of sharp, earnest, consecrated men. Stupidity, after being +regularly ordained, is found to be no more acceptable to the people than +before, and the title of Doctorate cannot any longer be substituted for +brains. Perhaps, however, there may get to be a surfeit of fine +discourses. Indeed, we have so many appliances for making bright and +incisive preachers that we do not know but that after a while, when we +want a sleepy discourse as an anodyne, we shall have to go to the ends +of the earth to find one; and dull sermons may be at a premium, +congregations of limited means not being able to afford them at all; and +so we shall have to fall back on chloral or morphine.</p> + +<p>Are we not, therefore, doing a humanitarian work when we give to +congregations some rules by which, if they want it, they may always have +poor preaching?</p> + +<p>First. Keep your minister poor. There is nothing more ruinous than to +pay a pastor too much salary. Let every board of trustees look over +their books and see if they have erred in this direction; and if so, let +them cut down the minister's wages. There are churches which pay their +pastors eight hundred dollars per annum. What these good men do with so +much money we cannot imagine. Our ministers must be taken <a name="Page_140" id="Page_140" />in. If by +occasional fasting for a day our Puritan fathers in New England became +so good, what might we not expect of our ministers if we kept them in +perpetual fast? No doubt their spiritual capacity would enlarge in +proportion to their shrinkage at the waistcoat. The average salary of +ministers in the United States is about six hundred dollars. Perhaps by +some spiritual pile-driver we might send it down to five hundred +dollars; and then the millennium, for the lion by that time would be so +hungry he would let the lamb lie down inside of him. We would suggest a +very economical plan: give your spiritual adviser a smaller income, and +make it up by a donation visit. When everything else fails to keep him +properly humble, that succeeds. We speak from experience. Fourteen years +ago we had one, and it has been a means of grace to us ever since.</p> + +<p>Secondly. For securing poor preaching, wait on your pastor with frequent +committees. Let three men some morning tie their horses at the dominie's +gate, and go in and tell him how to preach, and pray, and visit. Tell +him all the disagreeable things said about him for six months, and what +a great man his predecessor was, how much plainer his wife dressed, and +how much better his children behaved. Pastoral committees are not like +the small-pox—you can have them more than once; they are more like the +mumps, which you may have first on one side and then on the other. If, +after a man has had the advantage of being manipulated by three church +committees, he has any pride or spirit left, better give him up as +incorrigible.</p> + +<p>Thirdly. To secure poor preaching, keep the minister on the trot. Scold +him when he comes to see you because he did not come before, and tell +him how often you were visited by the <a name="Page_141" id="Page_141" />former pastor. Oh, that blessed +predecessor! Strange they did not hold on to the angel when they had +him. Keep your minister going. Expect him to respond to every whistle. +Have him at all the tea parties and "the raisings." Stand him in the +draught of the door at the funeral—a frequent way of declaring a pulpit +vacant. Keep him busy all the week in out-door miscellaneous work; and +if at the end of that time he cannot preach a weak discourse, send for +us, and we will show him how to do it. Of course there are exceptions to +all rules; but if the plan of treatment we have proposed be carried out, +we do not see that any church in city or country need long be in want of +poor preaching.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX" /><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142" />CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">SHELVES A MAN'S INDEX.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>In Chelsea, a suburb of London, and on a narrow street, with not even a +house in front, but, instead thereof, a long range of brick wall, is the +house of Thomas Carlyle. You go through a narrow hall and turn to the +left, and are in the literary workshop where some of the strongest +thunderbolts of the world have been forged. The two front windows have +on them scant curtains of reddish calico, hung at the top of the lower +sash, so as not to keep the sun from looking down, but to hinder the +street from looking in.</p> + +<p>The room has a lounge covered with the same material, and of +construction such as you would find in the plainest house among the +mountains. It looks as if it had been made by an author not accustomed +to saw or hammer, and in the interstices of mental work. On the wall are +a few wood-cuts in plain frames or pinned against the wall; also a +photograph of Mr. Carlyle taken one day, as his family told us, when he +had a violent toothache and could attend to nothing else, it is his +favorite picture, though it gives him a face more than ordinarily severe +and troubled.</p> + +<p>In long shelves, unpainted and unsheltered by glass or door, is the +library of the world-renowned thinker. The books are worn, as though he +had bought them to read. Many of them are uncommon books, the titles of +which we never saw before. American literature is almost ignored, while +Germany monopolizes many of the spaces. We noticed the absence of +theological works, save those of Thomas Chalmers, whose name and <a name="Page_143" id="Page_143" />genius +he well-nigh worshiped. The carpets are old and worn and faded—not +because he cannot afford better, but because he would have his home a +perpetual protest against the world's sham. It is a place not calculated +to give inspiration to a writer. No easy chairs, no soft divans, no +wealth of upholstery, but simply a place to work and stay. Never having +heard a word about it, it was nevertheless just such a place as we +expected.</p> + +<p>We had there confirmed our former theory of a man's study as only a part +of himself, or a piece of tight-fitting clothing. It is the shell of the +tortoise, just made to fit the tortoise's back. Thomas Carlyle could +have no other kind of a workshop. What would he do with a damask-covered +table, or a gilded inkstand, or an upholstered window? Starting with the +idea that the intellect is all and the body naught but an adjunct or +appendage, he will show that the former can live and thrive without any +approval of the latter. He will give the intellect all costly stimulus, +and send the body supperless to bed. Thomas Carlyle taken as a premise, +this shabby room is the inevitable conclusion. Behold the principle.</p> + +<p>We have a poetic friend. The backs of his books are scrolled and +transfigured. A vase of japonicas, even in mid-winter, adorns his +writing desk. The hot-house is as important to him as the air. There are +soft engravings on the wall. This study-chair was made out of the +twisted roots of a banyan. A dog, sleek-skinned, lies on the mat, and +gets up as you come in. There stand in vermilion all the poets from +Homer to Tennyson. Here and there are chamois heads and pressed seaweed. +He writes on gilt-edged paper with a gold pen and handle twisted with a +serpent. His inkstand is a mystery of beauty <a name="Page_144" id="Page_144" />which unskilled hands dare +not touch, lest the ink spring at him from some of the open mouths, or +sprinkle on him from the bronze wings, or with some unexpected squirt +dash into his eyes the blackness of darkness.</p> + +<p>We have a very precise friend. Everything is in severe order. Finding +his door-knob in the dark, you could reason out the position of stove, +and chair, and table; and placing an arrow at the back of the book on +one end of the shelf, it would fly to the other end, equally grazing all +the bindings. It is ten years since John Milton, or Robert Southey, or +Sir William Hamilton have been out of their places, and that was when an +ignoramus broke into the study. The volumes of the encyclopedias never +change places. Manuscripts unblotted, and free from interlineation, and +labeled. The spittoon knows its place in the corner, as if treated by +tobacco chewers with oft indignity. You could go into that study with +your eyes shut, turn around, and without feeling for the chair throw +yourself back with perfect confidence that the furniture would catch +you. No better does a hat fit his head, or shoe his foot, or the glove +his hand, than the study fits his whole nature.</p> + +<p>We have a facetious friend. You pick off the corner of his writing table +"Noctes Ambrosianæ" or the London "Punch." His chair is wide, so that he +can easily roll off on the floor when he wants a good time at laughing. +His inkstand is a monkey, with the variations. His study-cap would upset +a judge's risibilities. Scrap books with droll caricatures and facetiæ. +An odd stove, exciting your wonder as to where the coal is put in or the +poker thrust for a shaking. All the works of Douglass Jerrold, and +Sydney Smith, and Sterne, the scalawag ecclesiastic. India-rubber faces +capable of being squashed into anything.<a name="Page_145" id="Page_145" /> Puzzles that you cannot +untangle. The four walls covered with cuts and engravings sheared from +weekly pictorials and recklessly taken from parlor table books. Prints +that put men and women into hopeless satire.</p> + +<p>We have a friend of many peculiarities. Entering his house, you find +nothing in the place where you expected it. "Don Quixote," with, all its +windmills mixed up with "Dr. Dick on the Sacraments," Mark Twain's +"Jumping Frog," and "Charnock on the Attributes." Passing across the +room, you stumble against the manuscript of his last lecture, or put +your foot in a piece of pie that has fallen off the end of the writing +table. You mistake his essay on the "Copernican System" for blotting +paper. Many of his books are bereft of the binding; and in attempting to +replace the covers, Hudibras gets the cover which belongs to "Barnes on +the Acts of the Apostles." An earthquake in the room would be more apt +to improve than to unsettle. There are marks where the inkstand became +unstable and made a handwriting on the wall that even Daniel could not +have interpreted. If, some fatal day, the wife or housekeeper come in, +while the occupant is absent, to "clear up," a damage is done that +requires weeks to repair. For many days the question is, "Where is my +pen? Who has the concordance? What on earth has become of the +dictionary? Where is the paper cutter?" Work is impeded, patience lost, +engagements are broken, because it was not understood that the study is +a part of the student's life, and that you might as well try to change +the knuckles to the inside of the hand, or to set the eyes in the middle +of the forehead, as to make the man of whom we speak keep his pen on the +rack, or his books off the floor, or the blotting paper straight in the +portfolio.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146" />The study is a part of the mental development. Don't blame a man for +the style of his literary apartments any more than you would for the +color of his hair or the shape of his nose. If Hobbes carries his study +with him, and his pen and his inkstand in the top of his cane, so let +him carry them. If Lamartine can best compose while walking his park, +paper and pencil in hand, so let him ramble. If Robert Hall thinks +easiest when lying flat on his back, let him be prostrate. If Lamasius +writes best surrounded by children, let loose on him the whole nursery. +Don't criticise Charles Dickens because he threw all his study windows +wide open and the shades up. It may fade the carpet, but it will pour +sunshine into the hearts of a million readers. If Thomas Carlyle chose +to call around an ink-spattered table Goethe, and Schiller, and Jean +Paul Frederick Richter, and dissect the shams of the world with a plain +goose-quill, so be it. The horns of an ox's head are not more certainly +a part of the ox than Thomas Carlyle's study and all its appointments +are a part of Thomas Carlyle.</p> + +<p>The gazelle will have soft fur, and the lion a shaggy hide, and the +sanctum sanctorum is the student's cuticle.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX" /><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147" />CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">BEHAVIOR AT CHURCH.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Around the door of country meeting-houses it has always been the custom +for the people to gather before and after church for social intercourse +and the shaking of hands. Perhaps because we, ourselves, were born in +the country and had never got over it, the custom pleases us. In the +cities we arrive the last moment before service and go away the first +moment after. We act as though the church were a rail-car, into which we +go when the time for starting arrives, and we get out again as soon as +the depot of the Doxology is reached. We protest against this business +way of doing things. Shake hands when the benediction is pronounced with +those who sat before and those who sat behind you. Meet the people in +the aisle, and give them Christian salutation. Postponement of the +dining hour for fifteen minutes will damage neither you nor the dinner. +That is the moment to say a comforting word to the man or woman in +trouble. The sermon was preached to the people in general; it is your +place to apply it to the individual heart.</p> + +<p>The church aisle may be made the road to heaven. Many a man who was +unaffected by what the minister said has been captured for God by the +Christian word of an unpretending layman on the way out.</p> + +<p>You may call it personal magnetism, or natural cordiality, but there are +some Christians who have such an ardent way of shaking hands after +meeting that it amounts to a benediction. Such <a name="Page_148" id="Page_148" />greeting is not made +with the left hand. The left hand is good for a great many things, for +instance to hold a fork or twist a curl, but it was never made to shake +hands with, unless you have lost the use of the right. Nor is it done by +the tips of the fingers laid loosely in the palm of another. Nor is it +done with a glove on. Gloves are good to keep out the cold and make one +look well, but have them so they can easily be removed, as they should +be, for they are non-conductors of Christian magnetism. Make bare the +hand. Place it in the palm of your friend. Clench the fingers across the +back part of the hand you grip. Then let all the animation of your heart +rush to the shoulder, and from there to the elbow, and then through the +fore arm and through the wrist, till your friend gets the whole charge +of gospel electricity.</p> + +<p>In Paul's time he told the Christians to greet each other with a holy +kiss. We are glad the custom has been dropped, for there are many good +people who would not want to kiss us, as we would not want to kiss them. +Very attractive persons would find the supply greater than the demand. +But let us have a substitute suited to our age and land. Let it be good, +hearty, enthusiastic, Christian hand-shaking.</p> + +<p>Governor Wiseman, our grave friend at tea, broke in upon us at this +moment and said: I am not fond of indiscriminate hand-shaking, and so am +not especially troubled by the lack of cordiality on the part of +church-goers. But I am sometimes very much annoyed on Sabbaths with the +habit of some good people in church. It may be foolish in me; but when +the wind blows from the east, it takes but little to disturb me.</p> + +<p>There are some of the best Christian people who do not know how to carry +themselves in religious assemblage. They never laugh. They <a name="Page_149" id="Page_149" />never +applaud. They never hiss. Yet, notwithstanding, are disturbers of public +worship.</p> + +<p>There is, for instance, the coughing brigade. If any individual right +ought to be maintained at all hazards, it is the right of coughing. +There are times when you must cough. There is an irresistible tickling +in the throat which demands audible demonstration. It is moved, seconded +and unanimously carried that those who have irritated windpipes be +heard. But there are ways with hand or handkerchief of breaking the +repercussion. A smothered cough is dignified and acceptable if you have +nothing better to offer. But how many audiences have had their peace +sacrificed by unrestrained expulsion of air through the glottis! After a +sudden change in the weather, there is a fearful charge made by the +coughing brigade. They open their mouths wide, and make the arches ring +with the racket. They begin with a faint "Ahem!" and gradually rise and +fall through all the scale of dissonance, as much as to say: "Hear, all +ye good people! I have a cold! I have a bad cold! I have an awful bad +cold! Hear how it racks me, tears me, torments me. It seems as if my +diaphragm must be split. I took this awful bad cold the other night. I +added to it last Sunday. Hear how it goes off! There it is again. Oh +dear me! If I only had 'Brown's troches,' or the syrup of squills, or a +mustard plaster, or a woolen stocking turned wrong side out around my +neck!" Brethren and sisters who took cold by sitting in the same draught +join the clamor, and it is glottis to glottis, and laryngitis to +laryngitis, and a chorus of scrapings and explosions which make the +service hideous for a preacher of sensitive nerves.</p> + +<p>We have seen people under the pulpit coughing with their mouth so far +open we have been <a name="Page_150" id="Page_150" />tempted to jump into it. There are some persons who +have a convenient ecclesiastical cough. It does not trouble them +ordinarily; but when in church you get them thoroughly cornered with +some practical truth, they smother the end of the sentences with a +favorite paroxysm. There is a man in our church who is apt to be taken +with one of these fits just as the contribution box comes to him, and +cannot seem to get his breath again till he hears the pennies rattling +in the box behind him. Cough by all means, but put on the brakes when +you come to the down grade, or send the racket through at least one fold +of your pocket-handkerchief.</p> + +<p>Governor Wiseman went on further to say that the habits of the pulpit +sometimes annoyed him as much as the habits of the pew. The Governor +said: I cannot bear the "preliminaries" of religious service.</p> + +<p>By common consent the exercises in the churches going before the sermon +are called "preliminaries." The dictionary says that a "preliminary" is +that which precedes the main business. We do not think the sermon ought +to be considered the main business. When a pastor at the beginning of +the first prayer says "O God!" he has entered upon the most important +duty of the service. We would not depreciate the sermon, but we plead +for more attention to the "preliminaries." If a minister cannot get the +attention of the people for prayer or Bible reading, it is his own +fault. Much of the interest of a service depends upon how it is +launched.</p> + +<p>The "preliminaries" are, for the most part, the time in which people in +church examine their neighbors' clothes. Milliners and tailors get the +advantage of the first three-quarters of an hour. The "preliminaries" +are the time to <a name="Page_151" id="Page_151" />scrutinize the fresco, and look round to see who is +there, and get yourself generally fixed.</p> + +<p>This idea is fostered by home elocutionary professors who would have the +minister take the earlier exercises of the occasion to get his voice in +tune. You must not speak out at first. It is to be a private interview +between you and heaven. The people will listen to the low grumble, and +think it must be very good if they could only hear it. As for ourselves, +we refuse to put down our head in public prayer until we find out +whether or not we are going to be able to hear. Though you preach like +an angel, you will not say anything more important than that letter of +St. Paul to the Corinthians, or that Psalm of David which you have just +now read to the backs of the heads of the congregation. Laymen and +ministers, speak out! The opening exercises were not instituted to clear +your voice, but to save souls. If need be, squeeze a lemon and eat +"Brown's troches" for the sake of your voice before you go to church; +but once there, make your first sentence resonant and mighty for God. An +hour and a half is short time anyhow to get five hundred or five +thousand people ready for heaven. It is thought classic and elegant to +have a delicate utterance, and that loud tones are vulgar. But we never +heard of people being converted by anything they could not hear. It is +said that on the Mount of Olives Christ opened His mouth and taught +them, by which we conclude He spake out distinctly. God has given most +Christians plenty of lungs, but they are too lazy to use them. There are +in the churches old people hard of hearing who, if the exercises be not +clear and emphatic, get no advantage save that of looking at the blessed +minister.</p> + +<p>People say in apology for their inaudible tones: "It is not the thunder +that kills, but the light<a name="Page_152" id="Page_152" />ning." True enough; but I think that God +thinks well of the thunder or He would not use so much of it. First of +all, make the people hear the prayer and the chapter. If you want to +hold up at all, let it be on the sermon and the notices. Let the pulpit +and all the pews feel that there are no "preliminaries."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI" /><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153" />CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">MASCULINE AND FEMININE.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>There are men who suppose they have all the annoyances. They say it is +the store that ruffles the disposition; but if they could only stay at +home as do their wives, and sisters, and daughters, they would be, all +the time, sweet and fair as a white pond lily. Let some of the masculine +lecturers on placidity of temper try for one week the cares of the +household and the family. Let the man sleep with a baby on one arm all +night, and one ear open to the children with the whooping-cough in the +adjoining apartment. Let him see the tray of crockery and the cook fall +down stairs, and nothing saved but the pieces. Let the pump give out on +a wash-day, and the stove pipe, when too hot for handling, get +dislocated. Let the pudding come out of the stove stiff as a poker. Let +the gossiping gabbler of next door come in and tell all the disagreeable +things that neighbors have been saying. Let the lungs be worn out by +staying indoors without fresh air, and the needle be threaded with +nerves exhausted. After one week's household annoyances, he would +conclude that Wall street is heaven and the clatter of the Stock +Exchange rich as Beethoven's symphony.</p> + +<p>We think Mary of Bethany a little to blame for not helping Martha get +the dinner. If women sympathize with men in the troubles of store and +field, let the men also sympathize with the women in the troubles of +housekeeping. Many a housewife has died of her annoyances. A bar of soap +may become a murderous weapon. The <a name="Page_154" id="Page_154" />poor cooking stove has sometimes +been the slow fire on which the wife has been roasted. In the day when +Latimer and Ridley are honored before the universe as the martyrs of the +fire, we do not think the Lord will forget the long line of wives, +mothers, daughters and sisters who have been the martyrs of the kitchen.</p> + +<p>Accompanying masculine criticism of woman's temper goes the popular +criticism of woman's dress.</p> + +<p>A convention has recently been held in Vineland, attended by the women +who are opposed to extravagance in dress. They propose, not only by +formal resolution, but by personal example, to teach the world lessons +of economy by wearing less adornment and dragging fewer yards of silk.</p> + +<p>We wish them all success, although we would have more confidence in the +movement if so many of the delegates had not worn bloomer dress. Moses +makes war upon that style of apparel in Deuteronomy xxii. 5: "The woman +shall not wear that which pertaineth unto man." Nevertheless we favor +every effort to stop the extravagant use of dry goods and millinery.</p> + +<p>We have, however, no sympathy with the implication that women are worse +than men in this respect. Men wear all they can without interfering with +their locomotion, but man is such an awkward creature he cannot find any +place on his body to hang a great many fineries. He could not get round +in Wall street with eight or ten flounces, and a big-handled parasol, +and a mountain of back hair. Men wear less than women, not because they +are more moral, but because they cannot stand it. As it is, many of our +young men are padded to a superlative degree, and have corns and bunions +on every separate toe from wearing shoes too tight.</p> + +<p>Neither have we any sympathy with the im<a name="Page_155" id="Page_155" />plication that the present is +worse than the past in matters of dress. Compare the fashion plates of +the seventeenth century with the fashion plates of the nineteenth, and +you decide in favor of our day. The women of Isaiah's time beat anything +now. Do we have the kangaroo fashion Isaiah speaks of—the daughters who +walked with "stretched forth necks?" Talk of hoops! Isaiah speaks of +women with "round tires like the moon." Do we have hot irons for curling +our hair? Isaiah speaks of "wimples and crisping pins." Do we sometimes +wear glasses astride our nose, not because we are near-sighted, but for +beautification? Isaiah speaks of the "glasses, and the earrings, and the +nose jewels." The dress of to-day is far more sensible than that of a +hundred or a thousand years ago.</p> + +<p>But the largest room in the world is room for improvement, and we would +cheer on those who would attempt reformation either in male or female +attire. Meanwhile, we rejoice that so many of the pearls, and emeralds, +and amethysts, and diamonds of the world are coming in the possession of +Christian women. Who knows but that the spirit of ancient consecration +may some day come upon them, and it shall again be as it was in the time +of Moses, that for the prosperity of the house of the Lord the women may +bring their bracelets, and earrings, and tablets and jewels? The +precious stones of earth will never have their proper place till they +are set around the Pearl of Great Price.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII" /><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156" />CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">LITERARY FELONY.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>We have recently seen many elaborate discussions as to whether +plagiarism is virtuous or criminal—in other words, whether writers may +steal. If a minister can find a sermon better than any one he can make, +why not preach it? If an author can find a paragraph for his book better +than any he can himself manufacture, why not appropriate it?</p> + +<p>That sounds well. But why not go further and ask, if a woman find a set +of furs better than she has in her wardrobe, why not take them? If a man +find that his neighbor has a cow full Alderney, while he has in his own +yard only a scrawny runt, why not drive home the Alderney? Theft is +taking anything that does not belong to you, whether it be sheep, oxen, +hats, coats or literary material.</p> + +<p>Without attempting to point put the line that divides the lawful +appropriation of another's ideas from the appropriation of another's +phraseology, we have only to say that a literary man always knows when +he is stealing. Whether found out or not, the process is belittling, and +a man is through it blasted for this world and damaged for the next one. +The ass in the fable wanted to die because he was beaten so much, but +after death they changed his hide into a drum-head, and thus he was +beaten more than ever. So the plagiarist is so vile a cheat that there +is not much chance for him, living or dead. A minister who hopes to do +good with each burglary will no more be a successful am<a name="Page_157" id="Page_157" />bassador to men +than a foreign minister despatched by our government to-day would +succeed if he presented himself at the court of St. James with the +credentials that he stole from the archives of those illustrious +ex-ministers, James Buchanan or Benjamin Franklin.</p> + +<p>What every minister needs is a fresh message that day from the Lord. We +would sell cheap all our parchments of licensure to preach. God gives +his ministers a license every Sabbath and a new message. He sends none +of us out so mentally poor that we have nothing to furnish but a cold +hash of other people's sermons. Our haystack is large enough for all the +sheep that come round it, and there is no need of our taking a single +forkful from any other barrack. By all means use all the books you can +get at, but devour them, chew them fine and digest them, till they +become a part of the blood and bone of your own nature. There is no harm +in delivering an oration or sermon belonging to some one else provided +you so announce it. Quotation marks are cheap, and let us not be afraid +to use them. Do you know why "quotation" marks are made up of four +commas, two at the head of the paragraph adopted and two at the close of +it? Those four commas mean that you should stop four times before you +steal anything.</p> + +<p>If there were no question of morals involved, plagiarism is nevertheless +most perilous. There are a great many constables out for the arrest of +such defrauders. That stolen paragraph that you think will never be +recognized has been committed to memory by that old lady with green +goggles in the front pew. That very same brilliant passage you have just +pronounced was delivered by the clergyman who preached in that pulpit +the Sabbath before: two thieves met in one hen-roost. All we know of +Doctor Hayward of<a name="Page_158" id="Page_158" /> Queen Elizabeth's time is that he purloined from +Tacitus. Be dishonest once in this respect, and when you do really say +something original and good the world will cry out, "Yes, very fine! I +always did like Joseph Addison!"</p> + +<p>Sermons are successful not according to the head involved in them, but +according to the heart implied, and no one can feel aright while +preaching a literary dishonesty. Let us be content to wear our own coat, +though the nap on it is not quite as well looking, to ride on our own +horse, though he do not gallop as gracefully and will "break up" when +others are passing. There is a work for us all to do, and God gives us +just the best tools to do it. What folly to be hankering after our +neighbor's chalk line and gimlet!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII" /><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159" />CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">LITERARY ABSTINENCE.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>It is as much an art not to read as to read. With what pains, and +thumps, and whacks at school we first learned the way to put words +together!</p> + +<p>We did not mind so much being whipped by the schoolmaster for not +knowing how to read our lesson, but to have to go out ourselves and cut +the hickory switch with which the chastisement was to be inflicted +seemed to us then, as it does now, a great injustice.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding all our hard work in learning to read we find it quite +as hard now to learn how not to read. There are innumerable books and +newspapers from which one had better abstain.</p> + +<p>There are but very few newspapers which it is safe to read all through, +though we know of one that it is best to peruse from beginning to end, +but modesty forbids us stating which one that is. In this day readers +need as never before to carry a sieve.</p> + +<p>It requires some heroism to say you have not read such and such a book. +Your friend gives you a stare which implies your literary inferiority. +Do not, in order to answer the question affirmatively, wade through +indiscriminate slush.</p> + +<p>We have to say that three-fourths of the novels of the day are a mental +depletion to those who read them. The man who makes wholesale +denunciation of notion pitches overboard "Pilgrim's Progress" and the +parables of our Lord. But the fact is that some of the publishing houses +that once were cautious about the moral tone of their books have become +reckless about every <a name="Page_160" id="Page_160" />thing but the number of copies sold. It is all the +same to them whether the package they send out be corn starch, jujube +paste or hellebore. They wrap up fifty copies and mark them C.O.D. But +if the expressman, according to that mark, should collect on delivery +all the curses that shall come on the head of the publishing house which +printed them, he would break down his wagon and kill his horses with the +load. Let parents and guardians be especially watchful. Have a +quarantine at your front door for all books and newspapers. Let the +health doctor go abroad and see whether there is any sickness there +before you let it come to wharfage.</p> + +<p>Whether young or old, be cautious about what you read in the newspapers. +You cannot day after day go through three columns of murder trial +without being a worse man than when you began. While you are trying to +find out whether Stokes was lying in wait for Fisk, Satan is lying in +wait for you. Skip that half page of divorce case. Keep out of the mud. +The Burdell and Sickles cases, through the unclean reading they afforded +to millions of people long ago, led their thousands into abandoned lives +and pitched them off the edge of a lost eternity. With so much healthful +literature of all sorts, there is no excuse for bringing your minds in +contact with evil. If there were a famine, there might be some reason +for eating garbage, but the land is full of bread. When we may, with our +families, sit around the clean warm fire-hearth of Christian knowledge, +why go hunting in the ash barrels for cinders?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV" /><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161" />CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">SHORT OR LONG PASTORATES.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>The question is being discussed in many journals, "How long ought a +minister to stay in one place?" Clergymen and laymen and editors are +wagging tongue and pen on the subject—a most practical question and +easy to answer. Let a minister stay in a place till he gets done—that +is, when he has nothing more to say or do.</p> + +<p>Some ministers are such ardent students of the Bible and of men, they +are after a twenty-five years' residence in a parish so full of things +that ought to be said, that their resignation would be a calamity. +Others get through in three months and ought to go; but it takes an +earthquake to get them away. They must be moved on by committees, and +pelted with resolutions, stuck through with the needles of the ladies' +sewing society, and advised by neighboring ministers, and hauled up +before presbyteries and consociations; and after they have killed the +church and killed themselves, the pastoral relation is dissolved.</p> + +<p>We knew of a man who got a unanimous call. He wore the finest pair of +gaiters that ever went into that pulpit; and when he took up the Psalm +book to give out the song, it was the perfection of gracefulness. His +tongue was dipped in "balm of a thousand flowers," and it was like the +roll of one of Beethoven's symphonies to hear him read the hardest Bible +names, Jechonias, Zerubbabel and Tiglath-pileser. It was worth all the +salary paid him to see the way he lifted his pocket-handkerchief to his +eyelids.</p> + +<p>But that brother, without knowing it, got through in six weeks. He had +sold out his <a name="Page_162" id="Page_162" />entire stock of goods, and ought to have shut up shop. +Congregations enjoy flowers and well-folded pocket-handkerchiefs for +occasional desserts, but do not like them for a regular meal. The most +urbane elder was sent to the minister to intimate that the Lord was +probably calling him to some other field, but the elder was baffled by +the graciousness of his pastor, and unable to discharge his mission, and +after he had for an hour hemmed and hawed, backed out.</p> + +<p>Next, a woman with a very sharp tongue was sent to talk to the +minister's wife. The war-cloud thickened, the pickets were driven in, +and then a skirmish, and after a while all the batteries were opened, +and each side said that the other side lied, and the minister dropped +his pocket-handkerchief and showed his claws as long as those of +Nebuchadnezzar after he had been three years eating grass like an ox. We +admire long pastorates when it is agreeable to both parties, we know +ministers who boast they have been thirty years in one place, though all +the world knows they have been there twenty-nine years too long. Their +congregations are patiently waiting their removal to a higher latitude. +Meanwhile, those churches are like a man with chronic rheumatism, very +quiet—not because they admire rheumatism, but because there is no use +kicking with a swollen foot, since it would hurt them more than the +object assaulted.</p> + +<p>If a pastorate can be maintained only through conflict or ecclesiastical +tyranny, it might better be abandoned. There are many ministers who go +away from their settlements before they ought, but we think there are +quite as many who do not go soon enough. A husband might just as well +try to keep his wife by choking her to death with a marriage ring as a +minister to try to keep a church's love by ecclesiastical violence. +Study the best time to quit.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV" /><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163" />CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">AN EDITOR'S CHIP-BASKET.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>On our way out the newspaper rooms we stumbled over the basket in which +is deposited the literary material we cannot use. The basket upset and +surprised us with its contents. On the top were some things that looked +like fifteen or twenty poems. People outside have no idea of the amount +of rhyme that comes to a printing office. The fact is that at some +period in every one's life he writes "poetry." His existence depends +upon it. We wrote ten or fifteen verses ourselves once. Had we not +written them just then and there, we might not be here. They were in +long metre, and "Old Hundred" would have fitted them grandly.</p> + +<p>Many people are seized with the poetic spasm when they are sick, and +their lines are apt to begin with.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="poem">"O mortality! how frail art thou!"</span> +</div> + +<p>Others on Sabbath afternoons write Sabbath-school hymns, adding to the +batch of infinite nonsense that the children are compelled to swallow. +For others a beautiful curl is a corkscrew pulling out canto after +canto. Nine-tenths of the rhyme that comes to a printing office cannot +be used. You hear a rough tear of paper, and you look around to see the +managing editor adding to the responsibilities of his chip-basket. What +a way that is to treat incipient Tennysons and Longfellows!</p> + +<p>Next to the poetic effusions tumble out treatises on "constitutional +law" heavy enough to break <a name="Page_164" id="Page_164" />the basket. We have noticed that after a man +has got so dull he can get no one willing to hear him he takes to +profound exposition. Out from the same chip-basket rolls a great pile of +announcements that people want put among the editorials, so as to save +the expense of the advertising column. They tell us the article they +wish recommended will have a highly beneficial effect upon the Church +and world. It is a religious churn, or a moral horse-rake, or a +consecrated fly trap. They almost get us crying over their new kind of +grindstone, and we put the letter down on the table while we get out our +pocket-handkerchief, when our assistant takes hold the document and +gives it a ruthless rip, and pitches it into the chip-basket.</p> + +<p>Next in the pile of torn and upset things is the speech of some one on +the momentous occasion of the presentation of a gold-headed cane, or +silver pitcher, or brass kettle for making preserves. It was +"unexpected," a "surprise" and "undeserved," and would "long be +cherished." "Great applause, and not a dry eye in the house," etc., etc. +But there is not much room in a paper for speeches. In this country +everybody speaks.</p> + +<p>An American is in his normal condition when he is making a speech. He is +born with "fellow-citizens" in his mouth, and closes his earthly life by +saying, "One word more, and I have done." Speeches being so common, +newspaper readers do not want a large supply, and so many of these +utterances, intended to be immortal, drop into oblivion through that +inexhaustible reservoir, the editorial chip-basket.</p> + +<p>But there is a hovering of pathos over this wreck of matter. Some of +these wasted things were written for bread by intelligent wives with +drunken husbands trying to support their families with the pen. Over +that mutilated manuscript <a name="Page_165" id="Page_165" />some weary man toiled until daybreak. How we +wish we could have printed what they wrote! Alas for the necessity that +disappoints the literary struggle of so many women and men, when it is +ten dollars for that article or children gone supperless to bed!</p> + +<p>Let no one enter the field of literature for the purpose of "making a +living" unless as a very last resort. There are thousands of persons +to-day starving to death with a steel pen in their hand. The story of +Grub street and poets living on thin soup is being repeated all over +this land, although the modern cases are not so conspicuous. Poverty is +no more agreeable because classical and set in hexameters. The hungry +author cannot breakfast on "odes to summer." On this, cold day how many +of the literati are shivering! Martyrs have perished in the fire, but +more persons have perished for lack of fire. Let no editor through +hypercriticism of contributed articles add to this educated suffering.</p> + +<p>What is that we hear in the next room? It is the roar of a big fire as +it consumes unavailable literary material—epics, sonnets, homilies, +tractates, compilations, circulars, dissertations. Some of them were +obscure, and make a great deal of smoke. Some of them were merry, and +crackle. All of them have ended their mission and gone down, ashes to +ashes and dust to dust.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI" /><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166" />CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">THE MANHOOD OF SERVICE.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>At the Crawford House, White Mountains, we noticed, one summer, unusual +intelligence and courtesy on the part of those who served the tables. We +found out that many of them were students from the colleges and +seminaries—young men and women who had taken this mode of replenishing +their purses and getting the benefit of mountain air. We felt like +applauding them. We have admiration for those who can be independent of +the oppressive conventionalities of society. May not all of us +practically adopt the Christian theory that any work is honorable that +is useful? The slaves of an ignominious pride, how many kill themselves +earning a living! We have tens of thousands of women in our cities, +sitting in cold rooms, stabbing their life out with their needles, +coughing their lungs into tubercles and suffering the horrors of the +social inquisition, for whom there waits plenty of healthy, happy homes +in the country, if they could only, like these sons and daughters of +Dartmouth and Northampton, consent to serve. We wish some one would +explain to us how a sewing machine is any more respectable than a churn, +or a yard stick is better than a pitchfork. We want a new Declaration of +Independence, signed by all the laboring classes. There is plenty of +work for all kinds of people, if they were not too proud to do it. +Though the country is covered with people who can find nothing to do, we +would be willing to open a bureau to-morrow, warranting to give to all +the unemployed of the land occupation, if they would only consent to do +what <a name="Page_167" id="Page_167" />might be assigned them. We believe anything is more honorable than +idleness.</p> + +<p>During very hard times two Italian artists called at our country home, +asking if we did not want some sketching done, and they unrolled some +elegant pictures, showing their fine capacity. We told them we had no +desire for sketches, but we had a cistern to clean, and would pay them +well for doing it. Off went their coats, and in a few hours the work was +done and their wages awarded. How much more honorable for them to do +what they could get to do rather than to wait for more adapted +employment!</p> + +<p>Why did not the girls of Northampton spend their summers embroidering +slippers or hemming handkerchiefs, and thus keep at work unobserved and +more popular? Because they were not fools. They said: "Let us go up and +see Mount Adams, and the Profile, and Mount Washington. We shall have to +work only five hours a day, and all the time we will be gathering health +and inspiration." Young men, those are the girls to seek when you want a +wife, rather than the wheezing victims of ruinous work chosen because it +is more popular. About the last thing we would want to marry is a +medicine-chest. Why did not the students of Dartmouth, during their +vacation, teach school? First, because teaching is a science, and they +did not want to do three months of damage to the children of the common +school. Secondly, because they wanted freedom from books as man makes +them, and opportunity to open the ponderous tome of boulder and strata +as God printed them. Churches and scientific institutions, these will be +the men to call—brawny and independent, rather than the bilious, +short-breathed, nerveless graduates who, too proud to take healthful +recreation, tumble, at commencement day, into the lap of society so many +Greek roots.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII" /><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168" />CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">BALKY PEOPLE.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Passing along a country road quite recently, we found a man, a horse and +wagon in trouble. The vehicle was slight and the road was good, but the +horse refused to draw, and his driver was in a bad predicament. He had +already destroyed his whip in applying inducements to progress in +travel. He had pulled the horse's ears with a sharp string. He had +backed him into the ditch. He had built a fire of straw underneath him, +the only result a smashed dash-board. The chief effect of the violences +and cruelties applied was to increase the divergency of feeling between +the brute and his master. We said to the besweated and outraged actor in +the scene that the best thing for him to do was to let his horse stand +for a while unwhipped and uncoaxed, setting some one to watch him while +he, the driver, went away to cool off. We learned that the plan worked +admirably; that the cold air, and the appetite for oats, and the +solitude of the road, favorable for contemplation, had made the horse +move for adjournment to some other place and time; and when the driver +came up, he had but to take up the reins, and the beast, erst so +obstinate, dashed down the road at a perilous speed.</p> + +<p>There is not as much difference between horses and men as you might +suppose. The road between mind and equine instinct is short and soon +traveled. The horse is sometimes superior to his rider. If anything is +good and admirable in proportion as it answers the end of its being, +then the horse that bends into its traces before a<a name="Page_169" id="Page_169" /> Fourth avenue car is +better than its blaspheming driver. He who cannot manage a horse cannot +manage a man.</p> + +<p>We know of pastors who have balky parishioners. When any important move +is to take place, and all the other horses of the team are willing to +draw, they lay themselves back in the harness.</p> + +<p>First the pastor pats the obstreperous elder or deacon on the neck and +tells him how much he thinks of him. This only makes him shake his mane +and grind his bit. He will die first before he consents to such a +movement. Next, he is pulled by the ear, with a good many sharp +insinuations as to his motives for holding back. Fires of indignation +are built under him for the purpose of consuming his balkiness. He is +whipped with the scourge of public opinion, but this only makes him kick +fiercely and lie harder in the breeching-straps. He is backed down into +the ditch of scorn and contempt, but still is not willing to draw an +ounce. O foolish minister, trying in that way to manage a balky +parishioner! Let him alone. Go on and leave him there. Pay less +attention to the horse that balks, and give more oats to those that +pull. Leave him out in the cold. Some day you will come back and find +him glad to start. At your first advance he will arch his neck, paw his +hoof, bend into the bit, stiffen the traces and dash on. We have the +same prescription for balky horses and men: for a little while let them +alone.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" /><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170" />CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">ANONYMOUS LETTERS.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>In boyhood days we were impressed with the fertility of a certain author +whose name so often appeared in the spelling books and readers, styled +Anon. He seemed to write more than Isaac Watts, or Shakespeare, or +Blair. In the index, and scattered throughout all our books, was the +name of Anon. He appeared in all styles of poetry and prose and +dialogue. We wondered where he lived, what his age was, and how he +looked, it was not until quite late in boyhood that we learned that Anon +was an abbreviation for anonymous, and that he was sometimes the best +saint and at other times the most extraordinary villain.</p> + +<p>After centuries of correspondence old Anonymous is as fertile of thought +and brain and stratagem as ever, and will probably keep on writing till +the last fire burns up his pen and cracks to pieces his ink bottle. +Anonymous letters sometimes have a mission of kindness and gratitude and +good cheer. Genuine modesty may sometimes hide the name of an epistolary +author or authoress. It may be a "God bless you" from some one who +thinks herself hardly in a position to address you. It may be the +discovery of a plot for your damage, in which the revelator does not +care to take the responsibility of a witness. It may be any one of a +thousand things that mean frankness and delicacy and honor and Christian +principle. We have received anonymous letters which we have put away +among our most sacred archives.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171" />But we suppose every one chiefly associates the idea of anonymous +communications with everything cowardly and base. There are in all +neighborhoods perfidious, sneaking, dastardly, filthy, calumnious, +vermin-infested wretches, spewed up from perdition, whose joy it is to +write letters with fictitious signatures. Sometimes they take the shape +of a valentine, the fourteenth of February being a great outlet for this +obscene spawn. If your nose be long, or your limbs slender, or your +waist thick around, they will be pictorially presented. Sometimes they +take the form of a delicate threat that if you do not thus or so there +will be a funeral at your house, yourself the chief object of interest. +Sometimes they will be denunciatory of your friends. Once being called +to preside at a meeting for the relief of the sewing women of +Philadelphia, and having been called in the opening speech to say +something about oppressive contractors, we received some twenty +anonymous letters, the purport of which was that it would be unsafe for +us to go out of doors after dark. Three months after moving to Brooklyn +we preached a sermon reviewing one of the sins of the city, and +anonymous letters came saying that we would not last six months in the +city of churches.</p> + +<p>Sometimes the anonymous crime takes the form of a newspaper article; and +if the matter be pursued, the editor-in-chief puts it off on the +managing editor, and the managing editor upon the book critic, and the +book critic upon the reporter.</p> + +<p>Whether Adam or Eve or the serpent was the most to be blamed for the +disappearance of the fair apple of reputation is uncertain; the only +thing you can be sure of is that the apple is gone. No honest man will +ever write a thing for a newspaper, in editorial or any other column, +that he would be ashamed to sign with the Christian <a name="Page_172" id="Page_172" />name that his +mother had him baptized with. They who go skulking about under the +editorial "we," unwilling to acknowledge their identity, are more fit +for Delaware whipping-posts than the position of public educators. It is +high time that such hounds were muzzled.</p> + +<p>Let every young man know that when he is tempted to pen anything which +requires him to disguise his handwriting he is in fearful danger. You +despoil your own nature by such procedure more than you can damage any +one else. Bowie-knife and dagger are more honorable than an anonymous +pen sharpened for defamation of character. Better try putting strychnine +in the flour barrel. Better mix ratsbane in the jelly cake. That +behavior would be more elegant and Christian.</p> + +<p>After much observation we have fixed upon this plan: If any one writes +us in defamation of another, we adopt the opposite theory. If the letter +says that the assaulted one lies, we take it as eulogistic of his +veracity; or that he is unchaste, we set him down as pure; or +fraudulent, we are seized with a desire to make him our executor. We do +so on logical and unmistakable grounds. A defamatory letter is from the +devil or his satellites. The devil hates only the good. The devil hates +Mr. A; ergo, Mr. A is good.</p> + +<p>Much of the work of the day of judgment will be with the authors of +anonymous letters. The majority of other crimes against society were +found out, but these creatures so disguised their handwriting in the +main text of the letter, or so willfully misspelled the direction on the +envelope, and put it in such a distant post-office, and looked so +innocent when you met them, that it shall be for the most part a dead +secret till the books are opened; and when that is done, we do not think +these abandoned souls will wait to have <a name="Page_173" id="Page_173" />their condemnation read, but, +ashamed to meet the announcement, will leap pell-mell into the pit, +crying, "We wrote them."</p> + +<p>If, since the world stood, there have been composed and sent off by mail +or private postmen 1,600,378 anonymous letters derogatory of character, +then 1,600,378 were vicious and damnable. If you are compelled to choose +between writing a letter with false signature vitriolic of any man's +integrity or any woman's honor on the one hand, and the writing a letter +with a red-hot nail dipped in adder's poison on a sheet woven of leper +scales, choose the latter. It were healthier, nobler, and could better +endure the test of man's review and God's scrutiny.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX" /><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174" />CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">BRAWN OR BRAIN.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Governor Wiseman (our oracular friend who talked in the style of an +oration) was with us this evening at the tea-table, and we were +mentioning the fact that about thirty colleges last summer in the United +States contested for the championship in boat-racing. About two hundred +thousand young ladies could not sleep nights, so anxious were they to +know whether Yale or Williams would be the winner. The newspapers gave +three and four columns to the particulars, the telegraph wires thrilled +the victory to all parts of the land. Some of the religions papers +condemned the whole affair, enlarging upon the strained wrists, broken +blood-vessels and barbaric animalism of men who ought to have been +rowing their race with the Binomial Theorem for one oar and Kames' +Elements of Criticism for the other.</p> + +<p>For the most part, we sympathized with the boys, and confess that at our +hotel we kept careful watch of the bulletin to see whose boat came in +ahead. We are disposed to applaud anything that will give our young men +muscular development. Students have such a tendency to lounge, and mope, +and chew, and eat almond-nuts at midnight, and read novels after they go +to bed, the candlestick set up on Webster's dictionary or the Bible, +that we prize anything that makes them cautious about their health, as +they must be if they would enter the list of contestants. How many of +our country boys enter the freshman class of college in robust health, +which lasts <a name="Page_175" id="Page_175" />them about a twelvemonth; then in the sophomore they lose +their liver; in the junior they lose their stomach; in the senior they +lose their back bone; graduating skeletons, more fit for an anatomical +museum than the bar or pulpit.</p> + +<p>"Midnight oil," so much eulogized, is the poorest kind of kerosene. +Where hard study kills one student, bad habits kill a hundred. Kirk +White, while at Cambridge, wrote beautiful hymns; but if he had gone to +bed at ten o'clock that night instead of three o'clock the next morning, +he would have been of more service to the world and a healthier example +to all collegians. Much of the learning of the day is morbid, and much +of the religion bilious. We want, first of all, a clean heart, and next +a strong stomach. Falling from grace is often chargeable to derangement +of gastric juices. Oar and bat may become salutary weapons.</p> + +<p>But, after all, there was something wrong about those summer boat-races. +A student with a stout arm, and great girth, and full chest, and nothing +else, is not at all admirable. Mind and body need to be driven tandem, +the body for the wheel horse and the intellect the leader. We want what +is now proposed in some directions—a grand collegiate literary race. +Let the mental contest be on the same week with the muscular. Let Yale +and Harvard and Williams and Princeton and Dartmouth see who has the +champion among scholars. Let there be a Waterloo in belles-lettres and +rhetoric and mathematics and philosophy. Let us see whether the students +of Doctors McCosh, or Porter, or Campbell, or Smith are most worthy to +wear the belt. About twelve o'clock at noon let the literary flotilla +start prow and prow, oar-lock and oar-lock. Let Helicon empty its waters +to swell the river of knowledge on which they row. Right foot on right +rib of <a name="Page_176" id="Page_176" />the boat, and left foot on the left rib—bend into it, my +hearties, bend!—and our craft come out four lengths ahead.</p> + +<p>Give the brain a chance as well as the arm. Do not let the animal eat up +the soul. Let the body be the well-fashioned hulk, and the mind the +white sails, all hoisted, everything, from flying jib to spanker, +bearing on toward the harbor of glorious achievement. When that boat +starts, we want to be on the bank to cheer, and after sundown help fill +the air with sky-rockets.</p> + +<p>"By the way," I said, "Governor Wiseman, do you not think that we need +more out-door exercise, and that contact with the natural world would +have a cheering tendency? Governor, do you ever have the blues?"</p> + +<p>The governor, putting his knife across the plate and throwing his +spectacles up on his forehead, replied:</p> + +<p>Almost every nature, however sprightly, sometimes will drop into a minor +key, or a subdued mood that in common parlance is recognized as "the +blues." There may be no adverse causes at work, but somehow the bells of +the soul stop ringing, and you feel like sitting quiet, and you strike +off fifty per cent from all your worldly and spiritual prospects. The +immediate cause may be a northeast wind, or a balky liver, or an +enlarged spleen, or pickled oysters at twelve o'clock the night before.</p> + +<p>In such depressed state no one can afford to sit for an hour. First of +all let him get up and go out of doors. Fresh air, and the faces of +cheerful men, and pleasant women, and frolicsome children, will in +fifteen minutes kill moping. The first moment your friend strikes the +keyboard of your soul it will ring music. A hen might as well try on +populous Broadway to hatch out a feathery group as for a man to +successfully <a name="Page_177" id="Page_177" />brood over his ills in lively society. Do not go for +relief among those who feel as badly as you do. Let not toothache, and +rheumatism, and hypochondria go to see toothache, rheumatism and +hypochondria. On one block in Brooklyn live a doctor, an undertaker and +a clergyman. That is not the row for a nervous man to walk on, lest he +soon need all three. Throw back all the shutters of your soul and let +the sunlight of genial faces shine in.</p> + +<p>Besides that, why sit ye here with the blues, ye favored sons and +daughters of men? Shone upon by such stars, and breathed on by such air, +and sung to by so many pleasant sounds, you ought not to be seen moping. +Especially if light from the better world strikes its aurora through +your night sky, ought you be cheerful. You can afford to have a rough +luncheon by the way if it is soon to end amid the banqueters in white. +Sailing toward such a blessed port, do not have your flag at half mast. +Leave to those who take too much wine "the gloomy raven tapping at the +chamber door, on the night's Plutonian shore," and give us the robin +red-breast and the chaffinch. Let some one with a strong voice give out +the long-metre doxology, and the whole world "Praise God, from whom all +blessings flow."</p> + +<p>"But do you not suppose, Governor Wiseman, that every man has his +irritated days?"</p> + +<p>Yes, yes, responded the governor. There are times when everything seems +to go wrong. From seven o'clock a.m. till ten p.m. affairs are in a +twist. You rise in the morning, and the room is cold, and a button is +off, and the breakfast is tough, and the stove smokes, and the pipes +burst, and you start down the street nettled from head to foot. All day +long things are adverse. Insinuations, petty losses, meanness on the +part of customers. The ink bottle upsets and spoils the <a name="Page_178" id="Page_178" />carpet. Some +one gives a wrong turn to the damper, and the gas escapes. An agent +comes in determined to insure your life, when it is already insured for +more than it is worth, and you are afraid some one will knock you on the +head to get the price of your policy; but he sticks to you, showing you +pictures of old Time and the hour-glass, and Death's scythe and a +skeleton, making it quite certain that you will die before your time +unless you take out papers in his company. Besides this, you have a cold +in your head, and a grain of dirt in your eye, and you are a walking +uneasiness. The day is out of joint, and no surgeon can set it.</p> + +<p>The probability is that if you would look at the weather-vane you would +find that the wind is northeast, and you might remember that you have +lost much sleep lately. It might happen to be that you are out of joint +instead of the day. Be careful and not write many letters while you are +in that irritated mood. You will pen some things that you will be sorry +for afterward.</p> + +<p>Let us remember that these spiked nettles of life are part of our +discipline. Life would get nauseating if it were all honey. That table +would be poorly set that had on it nothing but treacle. We need a little +vinegar, mustard, pepper and horse-radish that brings the tears even +when we do not feel pathetic. If this world were all smoothness, we +would never be ready for emigration to a higher and better. Blustering +March and weeping April prepare us for shining May. This world is a poor +hitching post. Instead of tying fast on the cold mountains, we had +better whip up and hasten on toward the warm inn where our good friends +are looking out of the window, watching to see us come up.</p> + +<p>Interrupting the governor at this point, we asked him if he did not +think that rowing, ball <a name="Page_179" id="Page_179" />playing and other athletic exercises might be +made an antidote to the morbid religion that is sometimes manifest. The +governor replied:</p> + +<p>No doubt much of the Christian character of the day lacks in swarthiness +and power. It is gentle enough, and active enough, and well meaning +enough, but is wanting in moral muscle. It can sweetly sing at a prayer +meeting, and smile graciously when it is the right time to smile, and +makes an excellent nurse to pour out with steady hand a few drops of +peppermint for a child that feels disturbances under the waistband, but +has no qualification for the robust Christian work that is demanded.</p> + +<p>One reason for this is the ineffable softness of much of what is called +Christian literature. The attempt is to bring us up on tracts made up of +thin exhortations and goodish maxims. A nerveless treatise on commerce +or science in that style would be crumpled up by the first merchant and +thrown into his waste-basket. Religious twaddle is of no more use than +worldly twaddle. If a man has nothing to say, he had better keep his pen +wiped and his tongue still. There needs an infusion of strong +Anglo-Saxon into religious literature, and a brawnier manliness and more +impatience with insipidity, though it be prayerful and sanctimonious. He +who stands with irksome repetitions asking people to "Come to Jesus," +while he gives no strong common-sense reason why they should come, +drives back the souls of men. If, with all the thrilling realities of +eternity at hand, a man has nothing to write which can gather up and +master the thoughts and feelings of men, his writing and speaking are a +slander on the religion which he wishes to eulogize.</p> + +<p>Morbidity in religion might be partially cured by more out-door +exercise. There are some duties <a name="Page_180" id="Page_180" />we can perform better on our feet than +on our knees. If we carry the grace of God with us down into every-day +practical Christian work, we will get more spiritual strength in five +minutes than by ten hours of kneeling. If Daniel had not served God save +when three times a day he worshiped toward the temple, the lions would +have surely eaten him up. The school of Christ is as much out-of-doors +as in-doors. Hard, rough work for God will develop an athletic soul. +Religion will not conquer either the admiration or the affections of men +by effeminacy, but by strength. Because the heart is soft is no reason +why the head should be soft. The spirit of genuine religion is a spirit +of great power. When Christ rides in apocalyptic vision, it is not on a +weak and stupid beast, but on a horse—emblem of majesty and strength: +"And he went forth conquering and to conquer."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL" /><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181" />CHAPTER XL.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">WARM-WEATHER RELIGION.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>It takes more grace to be an earnest and useful Christian in summer than +in any other season. The very destitute, through lack of fuel and thick +clothing, may find the winter the trying season, but those comfortably +circumstanced find summer the Thermopylæ that tests their Christian +courage and endurance.</p> + +<p>The spring is suggestive of God and heaven and a resurrection day. That +eye must be blind that does not see God's footstep in the new grass, and +hear His voice in the call of the swallow at the eaves. In the white +blossoms of the orchards we find suggestion of those whose robes have +been made white in the blood of the Lamb. A May morning is a door +opening into heaven.</p> + +<p>So autumn mothers a great many moral and religious suggestions. The +season of corn husking, the gorgeous woods that are becoming the +catafalque of the dead year, remind the dullest of his own fading and +departure.</p> + +<p>But summer fatigues and weakens, and no man keeps his soul in as +desirable a frame unless by positive resolution and especial +implorations. Pulpit and pew often get stupid together, and ardent +devotion is adjourned until September.</p> + +<p>But who can afford to lose two months out of each year, when the years +are so short and so few? He who stops religious growth in July and +August will require the next six months to get over it. Nay, he never +recovers. At the season when the fields are most full of leafage and +life let us not be lethargic and stupid.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182" />Let us remember that iniquity does not cease in summer-time. She never +takes a vacation. The devil never leaves town. The child of want, living +up that dark alley, has not so much fresh air nor sees as many flowers +as in winter-time. In cold weather the frost blossoms on her window +pane, and the snow falls in wreaths in the alley. God pity the +wretchedness that pants and sweats and festers and dies on the hot +pavements and in the suffocating cellars of the town!</p> + +<p>Let us remember that our exit from this world will more probably be in +the summer than in any other season, and we cannot afford to die at a +time when we are least alert and worshipful. At mid-summer the average +of departures is larger than in cool weather. The sun-strokes, the +dysenteries, the fevers, the choleras, have affinity for July and +August. On the edge of summer Death stands whetting his scythe for a +great harvest. We are most careful to have our doors locked, and our +windows fastened, and our "burglar alarm" set at times when thieves are +most busy, and at a season of the year when diseases are most active in +their burglaries of life we need to be ready.</p> + +<p>Our charge, therefore, is, make no adjournment of your religion till +cool weather. Whether you stay in town, or seek the farm house, or the +sea-shore, or the mountains, be faithful in prayer, in Bible reading and +in attendance upon Christian ordinances. He who throws away two months +of life wastes that for which many a dying sinner would have been +willing to give all his possessions when he found that the harvest was +past and the summer was ended.</p> + +<p>The thermometer to-day has stood at a high mark. The heat has been +fierce. As far as possible people have kept within doors or walked on +the shady side of the street. But we can have <a name="Page_183" id="Page_183" />but a faint idea of what +the people suffer crossing a desert or in a tropical clime. The head +faints, the tongue swells and deathly sickness comes upon the whole body +when long exposed to the summer sun. I see a whole caravan pressing on +through the hot sands. "Oh," say the camel-drivers, "for water and +shade!" At last they see an elevation against the sky. They revive at +the eight and push on. That which they saw proves to be a great rock, +and camels and drivers throw themselves down under the long shadow. +Isaiah, who lived and wrote in a scorching climate, draws his figure +from what he had seen and felt when he represents God as the shadow of a +great rock in a weary land.</p> + +<p>Many people have found this world a desert-march. They go half consumed +of trouble all their days. But glory be to God! we are not turned out on +a desert to die. Here is the long, cool, certain, refreshing shadow of +the Lord.</p> + +<p>A tree, when in full leafage, drops a great deal of refreshment; but in +a little while the sun strikes through, and you keep shifting your +position, until, after a while, the sun is set at such a point that you +have no shade at all. But go in the heart of some great rock, such as +you see in Yosemite or the Alps, and there is everlasting shadow. There +has been thick shade there for six thousand years, and will be for the +next six thousand. So our divine Rock, once covering us, always covers +us. The same yesterday, to-day and for ever! always good, always kind, +always sympathetic! You often hold a sunshade over your head passing +along the road or a street; but after a while your arm gets tired, and +the very effort to create the shadow makes you weary. But the rock in +the mountains, with fingers of everlasting stone, holds its own shadow. +So God's sympathy needs no holding up from us. Though <a name="Page_184" id="Page_184" />we are too weak +from sickness or trouble to do anything but lie down, over us He +stretches the shadow of His benediction.</p> + +<p>It is our misfortune that we mistake God's shadow for the night. If a +man come and stand between you and the sun, his shadow falls upon you. +So God sometimes comes and stands between us and worldly successes, and +His shadow falls upon us, and we wrongly think that it is night. As a +father in a garden stoops down to kiss his child the shadow of his body +falls upon it; and so many of the dark misfortunes of our life are not +God going away from us, but our heavenly Father stooping down to give us +the kiss of His infinite and everlasting love. It is the shadow of a +sheltering Rock, and not of a devouring lion.</p> + +<p>Instead of standing right out in the blistering noon-day sun of earthly +trial and trouble, come under the Rock. You may drive into it the +longest caravan of disasters. Room for the suffering, heated, sunstruck, +dying, of all generations, in the shadow of the great Rock:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="poem">"Rock of ages, cleft for me,</span> +<span class="poem">Let me hide myself in Thee."</span> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLI" id="CHAPTER_XLI" /><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185" />CHAPTER XLI.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">HIDING EGGS FOR EASTER.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Those who were so unfortunate as to have been born and brought up in the +city know nothing about that chapter in a boy's history of which I +speak.</p> + +<p>About a month before Easter there comes to the farmhouse a scarcity of +eggs. The farmer's wife begins to abuse the weasels and the cats as the +probable cause of the paucity. The feline tribe are assaulted with many +a harsh "Scat!" on the suspicion of their fondness for omelets in the +raw. Custards fail from the table. The Dominick hens are denounced as +not worth their mush. Meanwhile, the boys stand round the corner in a +broad grin at what is the discomfiture of the rest of the family.</p> + +<p>The truth must be told that the boys, in anticipation of Easter, have, +in some hole in the mow or some barrel in the wagon-house, been hiding +eggs. If the youngsters understand their business, they will compromise +the matter, and see that at least a small supply goes to the house every +day. Too great greed on the part of the boy will discover the whole +plot, and the charge will be made: "De Witt, I believe you are hiding +the eggs!" Forthwith the boy is collared and compelled to disgorge his +possessions.</p> + +<p>Now, there is nothing more trying to a boy than, after great care in +accumulating these shelly resources, to have to place them in a basket +and bring them forth to the light two weeks before Easter. Boys, +therefore, manage with skill and dexterity. At this season of the year +you see <a name="Page_186" id="Page_186" />them lurking much about the hayrick and the hay-loft. You see +them crawling out from stacks of straw and walking away rapidly with +their hands behind them. They look very innocent, for I have noticed +that the look of innocence in boys is proportioned to the amount of +mischief with which they are stuffed. They seem to be determined to risk +their lives on mow-poles where the hay lies thin. They come out from +under the stable floor in a despicable state of toilet, and cannot give +any excuse for their depreciation of apparel. Hens flutter off the nest +with an unusual squawk, for the boys cannot wait any longer for the slow +process of laying, and hens have no business to stand in the way of +Easter. The most tedious hours of my boyhood were spent in waiting for a +hen to get off her nest. No use to scare her off, for then she will get +mad, and just as like as not take the egg with her. Indeed, I think the +boy is excusable for his haste if his brother has a dozen eggs and he +has only eleven.</p> + +<p>At this season of the year the hens are melancholy. They want to hatch, +but how can they? They have the requisite disposition, and the capacity, +and the feathers, and the nest, and everything but the eggs. With that +deficit, they sometimes sit obstinately and defy the boy's approaches. +Many a boy has felt the sharp bill of old Dominick strike the back of +his hand, inflicting a wound that would have roused up the whole +farmhouse to see what was the matter had it not been that the boy wanted +to excite no suspicion as to the nature of his expedition. Immediately +over the hen's head comes the boy's cap, and there is a scatteration of +feathers all over the hay-mow, and the boy is victor.</p> + +<p>But at last the evening before Easter comes. While the old people are on +the piazza the children come in with the accumulated treasures of <a name="Page_187" id="Page_187" />many +weeks, and put down the baskets. Eggs large and small, white-shelled and +brown, Cochin-Chinas and Brahmapooters. The character of the hens is +vindicated. The cat may now lie in the sun without being kicked by false +suspicions. The surprised exclamation of parents more than compensates +the boys for the strategy of long concealment. The meanest thing in the +world is for father and mother not to look surprised in such +circumstances.</p> + +<p>It sometimes happens that, in the agitation of bringing the eggs into +the household harbor, the boy drops the hat or the basket, and the whole +enterprise is shipwrecked. From our own experience, it is very difficult +to pick up eggs after you have once dropped them. You have found the +same experience in after life. Your hens laid a whole nestful of golden +eggs on Wall street. You had gathered them up. You were bringing them +in. You expected a world of congratulations, but just the day before the +consummation, something adverse ran against you, and you dropped the +basket, and the eggs broke. Wise man were you if, instead of sitting +down to cry or attempting to gather up the spilled yolks, you built new +nests and invited a new laying.</p> + +<p>It is sometimes found on Easter morning that the eggs have been kept too +long. The boy's intentions were good enough, but the enterprise had been +too protracted, and the casting out of the dozen was sudden and +precipitate. Indeed, that is the trouble with some older boys I wot of. +They keep their money, or their brain, or their influence hidden till it +rots. They are not willing to come forth day by day on a humble mission, +doing what little good they may, but are keeping themselves hidden till +some great Easter-day of triumph, and then they will astonish the Church +and the world; but they find that facul<a name="Page_188" id="Page_188" />ties too long hidden are +faculties ruined. Better for an egg to have succeeded in making one +plain cake for a poor man's table than to have failed in making a +banquet for the House of Lords.</p> + +<p>That was a glad time when on Easter morning the eggs went into the +saucepan, and came out striped, and spotted, and blue, and yellow, and +the entire digestive capacity of the children was tested. You have never +had anything so good to eat since. You found the eggs. You hid them. +They were your contribution to the table. Since then you have seen eggs +scrambled, eggs poached, eggs in omelet, eggs boiled, eggs done on one +side and eggs in a nog, but you shall never find anything like the +flavor of that Easter morning in boyhood.</p> + +<p>Alas for the boys in town! Easter comes to them on stilts, and they buy +their eggs out of the store. There is no room for a boy to swing round. +There is no good place in town to fly a kite, or trundle a hoop, or even +shout without people's throwing up the window to see who is killed. The +holidays are robbed of half their life because some wiseacre will +persist in telling him who Santa Claus is, while yet he is hanging up +his first pair of stockings. Here the boy pays half a dollar for a +bottle of perfume as big as his finger, when out of town, for nothing +but the trouble of breathing it, he may smell a country full of new-mown +hay and wild honeysuckle. In a painted bath-tub he takes his Saturday +bath careful lest he hit his head against the spigot, while in the +meadow-brook the boys plunge in wild glee, and pluck up health and long +life from the pebbly bottom. Oh, the joy in the spring day, when, after +long teasing of mother to let you take off your shoes, you dash out on +the cool grass barefoot, or down the road, the dust curling about the +instep in warm enjoyment, and, hence<a name="Page_189" id="Page_189" />forth, for months, there shall be +no shoes to tie or blacken.</p> + +<p>Let us send the boys out into the country every year for an airing. If +their grandfather and grandmother be yet alive, they will give them a +good time. They will learn in a little while the mysteries of the +hay-mow, how to drive oxen and how to keep Easter. They will take the +old people back to the time when you yourself were a boy. There will be +for the grandson an extra cake in each oven. And grandfather and +grandmother will sit and watch the prodigy, and wonder if any other +family ever had such grandchildren. It will be a good thing when the +evenings are short, and the old folks' eyesight is somewhat dim, if you +can set up in their house for a little while one or two of these lights +of childhood. For the time the aches and pains of old age will be gone, +and they will feel as lithe and merry as when sixty years ago they +themselves rummaged hayrick, and mow and wagon-house, hiding eggs for +Easter.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLII" id="CHAPTER_XLII" /><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190" />CHAPTER XLII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">SINK OR SWIM.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>We entered the ministry with a mortal horror of extemporaneous speaking. +Each week we wrote two sermons and a lecture all out, from the text to +the amen. We did not dare to give out the notice of a prayer-meeting +unless it was on paper. We were a slave to manuscript, and the chains +were galling; and three months more of such work would have put us in +the graveyard. We resolved on emancipation. The Sunday night was +approaching when we expected to make violent rebellion against this +bondage of pen and paper. We had an essay about ten minutes long on some +Christian subject, which we proposed to preach as an introduction to the +sermon, resolved, at the close of that brief composition, to launch out +on the great sea of extemporaneousness.</p> + +<p>It so happened that the coming Sabbath night Was to be eventful in the +village. The trustees of the church had been building a gasometer back +of the church, and the night I speak of the building was for the first +time to be lighted in the modern way. The church was, of course, +crowded—not so much to hear the preacher as to see how the gas would +burn. Many were unbelieving, and said that there would be an explosion, +or a big fire, or that in the midst of the service the lights would go +out. Several brethren disposed to hang on to old customs declared that +candles and oil were the only fit material for lighting a church, and +they denounced the innovation as indicative of vanity on the part of the +new-comers. They used oil in the ancient temple, <a name="Page_191" id="Page_191" />and it was that which +ran down on Aaron's beard, and anything that was good enough for the +whiskers of an old-time priest was good enough for a country +meeting-house. These sticklers for the oil were present that night, +hoping—and I think some of them secretly praying—that the gas might go +out.</p> + +<p>With our ten-minute manuscript we went into the pulpit, all in a tremor. +Although the gas did not burn as brightly as its friends had hoped, +still it was bright enough to show the people the perspiration that +stood in beads on our forehead. We began our discourse, and every +sentence gave us the feeling that we were one step nearer the gallows. +We spoke very slowly, so as to make the ten-minute notes last fifteen +minutes. During the preachment of the brief manuscript we concluded that +we had never been called to the ministry. We were in a hot bath of +excitement. People noticed our trepidation, and supposed it was because +we were afraid the gas would go out. Alas! our fear was that it would +not go out. As we came toward the close of our brief we joined the +anti-gas party, and prayed that before we came to the last written line +something would burst, and leave us in the darkness. Indeed, we +discovered an encouraging flicker amid the burners, which gave us the +hope that the brief which lay before us would be long enough for all +practical purposes, and that the hour of execution might be postponed to +some other night. As we came to the sentence next to the last the lights +fell down to half their size, and we could just manage to see the +audience as they were floating away from our vision. We said to +ourselves, "Why can't these lights be obliging, and go out entirely?" +The wish was gratified. As we finished the last line of our brief, and +stood on the verge of rhetorical destruction, the last glimmer of light +<a name="Page_192" id="Page_192" />was extinguished. "It is impossible to proceed," we cried out; "receive +the benediction!"</p> + +<p>We crawled down the pulpit in a state of exhilaration; we never before +saw such handsome darkness. The odor of the escaping gas was to us like +"gales from Araby." Did a frightened young man ever have such fortunate +deliverance? The providence was probably intended to humble the +trustees, yet the scared preacher took advantage of it.</p> + +<p>But after we got home we saw the wickedness of being in such dread. As +the Lord got us out of that predicament, we resolved never again to be +cornered in one similar. Forthwith the thralldom was broken, we hope +never again to be felt. How demeaning that a man with a message from the +Lord Almighty should be dependent upon paper-mills and gasometers! Paper +is a non-conductor of gospel electricity. If a man have a +five-thousand-dollar bill of goods to sell a customer, he does not go up +to the purchaser and say, "I have some remarks to make to you about +these goods, but just wait till I get out my manuscript." Before he got +through reading the argument the customer would be in the next door, +making purchases from another house.</p> + +<p>What cowardice! Because a few critical hearers sit with lead-pencils out +to mark down the inaccuracies of extemporaneousness, shall the pulpit +cower? If these critics do not repent, they will go to hell, and take +their lead-pencils with them. While the great congregation are ready to +take the bread hot out of the oven shall the minister be crippled in his +work because the village doctor or lawyer sits carping before him? To +please a few learned ninnies a thousand ministers sit writing sermons on +Saturday night till near the break of day, their heads hot, their feet +cold, and their nerves a-twitch. Sermons born on<a name="Page_193" id="Page_193" /> Saturday night are apt +to have the rickets. Instead of cramping our chests over writing-desks, +and being the slaves of the pen, let us attend to our physical health, +that we may have more pulpit independence.</p> + +<p>It would be a grand thing if every minister felt strong enough in body +to thrash any man in his audience improperly behaving, but always kept +back from such assault by the fact that it would be wrong to do so. +There is a good deal of heart and head in our theology, but not enough +liver and backbone. We need a more stalwart Christian character, more +roast beef rare, and less calf's-foot jelly. This will make the pulpit +more bold and the pew more manly.</p> + +<p>Which thoughts came to us this week as we visited again the village +church aforesaid, and preached out of the same old Bible in which, years +ago, we laid the ten-minute manuscript, and we looked upon the same +lights that once behaved so badly. But we found it had been snowing +since the time we lived there, and heads that then were black are white +now, and some of the eyes which looked up to us that memorable night +when the gasometer failed us, thirteen years ago, are closed now, and +for them all earthly lights have gone out for ever.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIII" id="CHAPTER_XLIII" /><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194" />CHAPTER XLIII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">SHELLS FROM THE BEACH.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Our summer-house is a cottage at East Hampton, Long Island, overlooking +the sea. Seventeen vessels in sight, schooners, clippers, hermaphrodite +brigs, steamers, great craft and small. Wonder where they come from, and +where they are going to, and who is aboard? Just enough clovertops to +sweeten the briny air into the most delightful tonic. We do not know the +geological history of this place, but imagine that the rest of Long +Island is the discourse of which East Hampton is the peroration. There +are enough bluffs to relieve the dead level, enough grass to clothe the +hills, enough trees to drop the shadow, enough society to keep one from +inanity, and enough quietude to soothe twelve months of perturbation. +The sea hums us to sleep at night, and fills our dreams with intimations +of the land where the harmony is like "the voice of many waters." In +smooth weather the billows take a minor key; but when the storm gives +them the pitch, they break forth with the clash and uproar of an +overture that fills the heavens and makes the beach tremble. Strange +that that which rolls perpetually and never rests itself should be a +psalm of rest to others! With these sands of the beach we help fill the +hour-glass of life. Every moment of the day there comes in over the +waves a flotilla of joy and rest and health, and our piazza is the wharf +where the stevedores unburden their cargo. We have sunrise with her +bannered hosts in cloth of gold, and moonrise with her innumerable +helmets and <a name="Page_195" id="Page_195" />shields and swords and ensigns of silver, the morning and +the night being the two buttresses from which are swung a bridge of +cloud suspended on strands of sunbeam, all the glories of the sky +passing to and fro with airy feet in silent procession.</p> + +<p>We have wandered far and wide, but found no such place to rest in. We +can live here forty-eight hours in one day, and in a night get a Rip Van +Winkle sleep, waking up without finding our gun rusty or our dog dead.</p> + +<p>No wonder that Mr. James, the first minister of this place, lived to +eighty years of age, and Mr. Hunting, his successor, lived to be +eighty-one years of age, and Doctor Buel, his successor, lived to be +eighty-two years of age. Indeed, it seems impossible for a minister +regularly settled in this place to get out of the world before his +eightieth year. It has been only in cases of "stated supply," or removal +from the place, that early demise has been possible. And in each of +these cases of decease at fourscore it was some unnecessary imprudence +on their part, or who knows but that they might be living yet? That +which is good for settled pastors being good for other people, you may +judge the climate here is salutary and delectable for all.</p> + +<p>The place was settled in 1648, and that is so long ago that it will +probably never be unsettled. The Puritans took possession of it first, +and have always held it for the Sabbath, for the Bible and for God. Much +maligned Puritans! The world will stop deriding them after a while, and +the caricaturists of their stalwart religion will want to claim them as +ancestors, but it will be too late then; for since these latter-day +folks lie about the Puritans now, we will not believe them when they +want to get into the illustrious genealogical line.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196" />East Hampton has always been a place of good morals. One of the +earliest Puritan regulations of this place was that licensed +liquor-sellers should not sell to the young, and that half a pint only +should be given to four men—an amount so small that most drinkers would +consider it only a tantalization. A woman here, in those days, was +sentenced "to pay a fine of fifteen dollars, or to stand one hour with a +cleft stick upon her tongue, for saying that her husband had brought her +to a place where there was neither gospel nor magistracy." She deserved +punishment of some kind, but they ought to have let her off with a fine, +for no woman's tongue ought to be interfered with. When in olden time a +Yankee peddler with the measles went to church here on the Sabbath for +the purpose of selling his knick-knacks, his behavior was considered so +perfidious that before the peddler left town the next morning the young +men gave him a free ride upon what seems to us an uncomfortable and +insufficient vehicle, namely, a rail, and then dropped him into the +duck-pond. But such conduct was not sanctioned by the better people of +the place. Nothing could be more unwholesome for a man with the measles +than a plunge in a duck-pond, and so the peddler recovered one thousand +dollars damage. So you see that every form of misdemeanor was sternly +put down. Think of the high state of morals and religion which induced +this people, at an early day, at a political town-meeting, to adopt this +decree: "We do sociate and conjoin ourselves and successors to be one +town or corporation, and do for ourselves and our successors, and such +as shall be adjoined to us at any time hereafter, enter into combination +and confederation together to maintain and preserve the purity of the +gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ which we now possess."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197" />The pledge of that day has been fully kept; and for sobriety, industry, +abhorrence of evil and adherence to an unmixed gospel, we know not the +equal of this place.</p> + +<p>That document of two centuries ago reads strangely behind the times, but +it will be some hundreds of years yet before other communities come up +to the point where that document stops. All our laws and institutions +are yet to be Christianized. The Puritans took possession of this land +in the name of Christ, and it belongs to Him; and if people do not like +that religion, let them go somewhere else. They can find many lands +where there is no Christian religion to bother them. Let them emigrate +to Greenland, and we will provide them with mittens, or to the South Sea +Islands, and we will send them ice-coolers. This land is for Christ. Our +Legislatures and Congresses shall yet pass laws as radically evangelical +as the venerable document above referred to. East Hampton, instead of +being two hundred years behind, is two hundred years ahead.</p> + +<p>Glorious place to summer! Darwin and Stuart, Mill and Huxley and Renan +have not been through here yet. May they miss the train the day they +start for this place! With an Atlantic Ocean in which to wash, and a +great-hearted, practical, sympathetic gospel to take care of all the +future, who could not be happy in East Hampton?</p> + +<p>The strong sea-breeze ruffles the sheet upon which we write, and the +"white caps" are tossing up as if in greeting to Him who walks the +pavements of emerald and opal:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="poem">"Waft, waft, ye winds, His story,</span> +<span class="poem">And you, ye waters, roll,</span> +<span class="poem">Till, like a sea of glory,</span> +<span class="poem">It spreads from pole to pole."</span> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIV" id="CHAPTER_XLIV" /><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198" />CHAPTER XLIV.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">CATCHING THE BAY MARE.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>It may be a lack of education on our part, but we confess to a dislike +for horse-races. We never attended but three; the first in our boyhood, +the second at a country fair, where we were deceived as to what would +transpire, the third last Sabbath morning. We see our friends flush with +indignation at this last admission; but let them wait a moment before +they launch their verdict.</p> + +<p>Our horse was in the pasture-field. It was almost time to start for +church, and we needed the animal harnessed. The boy came in saying it +was impossible to catch the bay mare, and calling for our assistance. We +had on our best clothes, and did not feel like exposing ourself to rough +usage; but we vaulted the fence with pail of water in hand, expecting to +try the effect of rewards rather than punishments. The horse came out +generously to meet us. We said to the boy, "She is very tame. Strange +you cannot catch her." She came near enough to cautiously smell the +pail, when she suddenly changed her mind, and with one wild snort dashed +off to the other end of the field.</p> + +<p>Whether she was not thirsty, or was critical of the manner of +presentation, or had apprehensions of our motive, or was seized with +desire for exercise in the open air, she gave us no chance to guess. We +resolved upon more caution of advance and gentler voice, and so +laboriously approached her; for though a pail of water is light for a +little way, it gets heavy after you have gone a considerable distance, +though its contents be half spilled away.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199" />This time we succeeded in getting her nose inserted into the bright +beverage. We called her by pet names, addressing her as "Poor Dolly!" +not wishing to suggest any pauperism by that term, but only sympathy for +the sorrows of the brute creation, and told her that she was the finest +horse that ever was. It seemed to take well. Flattery always does—with +horses.</p> + +<p>We felt that the time had come for us to produce the rope halter, which +with our left hand we had all the while kept secreted behind our back. +We put it over her neck, when the beast wheeled, and we seized her by +the point where the copy-books say we ought to take Time, namely, the +forelock. But we had poor luck. We ceased all caressing tone, and +changed the subjunctive mood for the imperative. There never was a +greater divergence of sentiment than at that instant between us and the +bay mare. She pulled one way, we pulled the other. Turning her back upon +us, she ejaculated into the air two shining horse-shoes, both the shape +of the letter O, the one interjection in contempt for the ministry, and +the other in contempt for the press.</p> + +<p>But catch the horse we must, for we were bound to be at church, though +jute then we did not feel at all devotional. We resolved, therefore, +with the boy, to run her down; so, by the way of making an animated +start, we slung the pail at the horse's head, and put out on a Sunday +morning horse-race. Every time she stood at the other end of the field +waiting for us to come up. She trotted, galloped and careered about us, +with an occasional neigh cheerfully given to encourage us in the +pursuit. We were getting more unprepared in body, mind and soul for the +sanctuary. Meanwhile, quite a household audience lined the fence; the +children and visitors shouting like excited Romans in an amphitheatre at +a contest with <a name="Page_200" id="Page_200" />wild beasts, and it was uncertain whether the audience +was in sympathy with us or the bay mare.</p> + +<p>At this unhappy juncture, she who some years ago took us for "better or +for worse" came to the rescue, finding us in the latter condition. She +advanced to the field with a wash-basin full of water, offering that as +sole inducement, and gave one call, when the horse went out to meet her, +and under a hand, not half as strong as ours, gripping the mane, the +refractory beast was led to the manger.</p> + +<p>Standing with our feet in the damp grass and our new clothes wet to a +sop, we learned then and there how much depends on the way you do a +thing. The proposition we made to the bay mare was far better than that +offered by our companion; but ours failed and hers succeeded. Not the +first nor the last time that a wash-basin has beaten a pail. So some of +us go all through life clumsily coaxing and awkwardly pursuing things +which we want to halter and control. We strain every nerve, only to find +ourselves befooled and left far behind, while some Christian man or +woman comes into the field, and by easy art captures that which evaded +us.</p> + +<p>We heard a good sermon that day, but it was no more impressive than the +besweated lesson of the pasture-field, which taught us that no more +depends upon the thing you do than upon the way you do it. The +difference between the clean swath of that harvester in front of our +house and the ragged work of his neighbor is in the way he swings the +scythe, and not in the scythe itself. There are ten men with one talent +apiece who do more good than the one man with ten talents. A basin +properly lifted may accomplish more than a pail unskillfully swung. A +minister for an hour in his sermon attempts to chase down those brut<a name="Page_201" id="Page_201" />ish +in their habits, attempting to fetch them under the harness of Christian +restraint, and perhaps miserably fails, when some gentle hand of +sisterly or motherly affection laid upon the wayward one brings him +safely in.</p> + +<p>There is a knack in doing things. If all those who plough in State and +Church had known how to hold the handles, and turn a straight furrow, +and stop the team at the end of the tiled, the world would long ago have +been ploughed into an Eden. What many people want is gumption—a word as +yet undefined; but if you do not know what it means, it is very certain +you do not possess the quality it describes. We all need to study +Christian tact. The boys in the Baskinridge school-house laughed at +William L. Dayton's impediment of speech, but that did not hinder him +from afterward making court-room and senate-chamber thrill under the +spell of his words.</p> + +<p>In our early home there was a vicious cat that would invade the +milk-pans, and we, the boys, chased her with hoes and rakes, always +hitting the place where she had been just before, till one day father +came out with a plain stick of oven-wood, and with one little clip back +of the ear put an end to all of her nine lives. You see everything +depends upon the style of the stroke, and not upon the elaborateness of +the weapon. The most valuable things you try to take will behave like +the bay mare; but what you cannot overcome by coarse persuasion, or +reach at full run, you can catch with apostolic guile. Learn the +first-rate art of doing secular or Christian work, and then it matters +not whether your weapon be a basin or a pail.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLV" id="CHAPTER_XLV" /><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202" />CHAPTER XLV.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">OUR FIRST AND LAST CIGAR.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>The time had come in our boyhood which we thought demanded of us a +capacity to smoke. The old people of the household could abide neither +the sight nor the smell of the Virginia weed. When ministers came there, +not by positive injunction but by a sort of instinct as to what would be +safest, they whiffed their pipe on the back steps. If the house could +not stand sanctified smoke, you may know how little chance there was for +adolescent cigar-puffing.</p> + +<p>By some rare good fortune which put in our hands three cents, we found +access to a tobacco store. As the lid of the long, narrow, fragrant box +opened, and for the first time we own a cigar, our feelings of elation, +manliness, superiority and anticipation can scarcely be imagined, save +by those who have had the same sensation. Our first ride on horseback, +though we fell off before we got to the barn, and our first pair of new +boots (real squeakers) we had thought could never be surpassed in +interest; but when we put the cigar to our lips, and stuck the lucifer +match to the end of the weed, and commenced to pull with an energy that +brought every facial muscle to its utmost tension, our satisfaction with +this world was so great, our temptation was never to want to leave it.</p> + +<p>The cigar did not burn well. It required an amount of suction that +tasked our determination to the utmost. You see that our worldly means +had limited us to a quality that cost only three cents. But we had been +taught that nothing great <a name="Page_203" id="Page_203" />was accomplished without effort, and so we +puffed away. Indeed, we had heard our older brothers in their Latin +lessons say, Omnia vincet labor; which translated means, If you want to +make anything go, you must scratch for it.</p> + +<p>With these sentiments we passed down the village street and out toward +our country home. Our head did not feel exactly right, and the street +began to rock from side to side, so that it was uncertain to us which +side of the street we were on. So we crossed over, but found ourself on +the same side that we were on before we crossed over. Indeed, we +imagined that we were on both sides at the same time, and several fast +teams driving between. We met another boy, who asked us why we looked so +pale, and we told him we did not look pale, but that he was pale +himself.</p> + +<p>We sat down under the bridge and began to reflect on the prospect of +early decease, and on the uncertainty of all earthly expectations. We +had determined to smoke the cigar all up and thus get the worth of our +money, but were obliged to throw three-fourths of it away, yet knew just +where we threw it, in case we felt better the next day.</p> + +<p>Getting home, the old people were frightened, and demanded that we state +what kept us so late and what was the matter with us. Not feeling that +we were called to go into particulars, and not wishing to increase our +parents' apprehension that we were going to turn out badly, we summed up +the case with the statement that we felt miserable at the pit of the +stomach. We had mustard plasters administered, and careful watching for +some hours, when we fell asleep and forgot our disappointment and +humiliation in being obliged to throw away three-fourths of our first +cigar. Being naturally reticent, we have never mentioned it until this +time.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204" />But how about our last cigar? It was three o'clock Sabbath morning in +our Western home. We had smoked three or four cigars since tea. At that +time we wrote our sermons and took another cigar with each new head of +discourse. We thought we were getting the inspiration from above, but +were getting much of it from beneath. Our hand trembled along the line; +and strung up to the last tension of nerves, we finished our work and +started from the room. A book standing on the table fell over; and +although it was not a large book, its fall sounded to our excited system +like the crack of a pistol. As we went down the stairs their creaking +made our hair stand on end. As we flung ourselves on a sleepless pillow +we resolved, God helping, that we had smoked our last cigar, and +committed our last sin of night-study.</p> + +<p>We kept our promise. With the same resolution went overboard coffee and +tea. That night we were born into a new physical, mental and moral life. +Perhaps it may be better for some to smoke, and study nights, and take +exciting temperance beverages; but we are persuaded that if thousands of +people who now go moping, and nervous, and half exhausted through life, +down with "sick headaches" and rasped by irritabilities, would try a +good large dose of abstinence, they would thank God for this paragraph +of personal experience, and make the world the same bright place we find +it—a place so attractive that nothing short of heaven would be good +enough to exchange for it.</p> + +<p>The first cigar made us desperately sick; the throwing away of our last +made us gloriously well. For us the croaking of the midnight owl hath +ceased, and the time of the singing of birds has come.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVI" id="CHAPTER_XLVI" /><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205" />CHAPTER XLVI.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">MOVE, MOVING, MOVED.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>The first of May is to many the beginning of the year. From that are +dated the breakages, the social startings, the ups and downs, of +domestic life. One-half New York is moving into smaller houses, the +other half into larger. The past year's success or failure decides which +way the horses of the furniture-wagon shall turn their heads.</p> + +<p>Days before, the work of packing commenced. It is astonishing how many +boxes and barrels are required to contain all your wares. You come upon +a thousand things that you had forgotten, too good to throw away and too +poor to keep: old faded carpet-bags that would rouse the mirth of the +town if you dared to carry them into the street; straw hats out of the +fashion; beavers that you ought to have given away while they might have +been useful; odd gloves, shoes, coats and slips of carpet that have been +the nest of rats, and a thousand things that you laid away because you +some day might want them, but never will.</p> + +<p>For the last few days in the old house the accommodations approach the +intolerable. Everything is packed up. The dinner comes to you on +shattered crockery which is about to be thrown away, and the knives are +only painful reminiscences of what they once were. The teapot that we +used before we got our "new set" comes on time to remind us how common +we once were. You can upset the coffee without soiling the table-cloth, +for there is none. The salt and sugar come to you in cups looking so +much alike that <a name="Page_206" id="Page_206" />you find out for the first time how coffee tastes when +salted, or fish when it is sweetened. There is no place to sit down, and +you have no time to do so if you found one. The bedsteads are down, and +you roll into the corner at night, a self-elected pauper, and all the +night long have a quarrel with your pillow, which persists in getting +out of bed, and your foot wanders out into the air, feeling for greater +length of cover. If the children cry in the night, you will not find the +matches nor the lamp nor anything else save a trunk just in time to fall +over it, getting up with confused notions as to which is the way to bed, +unless there be some friendly voice to hail you through the darkness.</p> + +<p>The first of May dawns. The carts come. It threatens rain, but not a +drop until you get your best rosewood chairs out of doors, and your +bedding on the top of the wagon. Be out at twelve o'clock you must, for +another family are on your heels, and Thermopylæ was a very tame pass +compared with the excitement which rises when two families meet in the +same hall—these moving out and those moving in. They swear, unless they +have positive principles to prohibit. A mere theory on the subject of +swearing will be no hindrance. Long-established propriety of speech, +buttressed up by the most stalwart determination is the only safety. Men +who talk right all the rest of the year sometimes let slip on the first +of May. We know a member of the church who uses no violence of speech +except on moving day, and then he frequently cries out: "By the great +United States!"</p> + +<p>All day long the house is full of racket: "Look out how you scratch that +table!" "There! you have dropped the leg out of that piano!" "There goes +the looking-glass!" "Ouch! you have smashed my finger!" "Didn't you see +you were <a name="Page_207" id="Page_207" />pushing me against the wall?" "Get out of our way! It's one +o'clock, and your things are not half moved! Carmen! take hold and +tumble these things into the street!" Our carmen and theirs get into a +fight. Our servants on our side, their servants on theirs. We, opposed +to anything but peace, try to quiet the strife, yet, if they must go on, +feel we would like to have our men triumph. Like England during our late +war, we remain neutral, yet have our preferences as to which shall beat. +Now dash comes the rain, and the water cools off the heat of the +combatants. The carmen must drive fast, so as to get the things out of +the wet, but slow, so as not to rub the furniture.</p> + +<p>As our last load starts we go in to take a farewell look at the old +place. In that parlor we have been gay with our friends many a time, and +as we glance round the room we seem to see the great group of their +faces. The best furniture we ever had in our parlor was a circle of +well-wishers. Here is the bed-room where we slept off the world's cares, +and got up glad as the lark when the morning sky beckons it upward. Many +a time this room has been full of sleep from door-sill to ceiling. We +always did feel grandly after we had put an eight-hour nap between us +and life's perplexities. We are accustomed to divide our time into two +parts: the first to be devoted to hard, blistering, consuming work, and +the rest to be given to the most jubilant fun; and sleep comes under the +last head.</p> + +<p>We step into the nursery for a last look. The crib is gone, and the doll +babies and the blockhouses, but the echoes have not yet stopped +galloping; May's laugh, and Edith's glee, and Frank's shout, as he urged +the hobby-horse to its utmost speed, both heels struck into the flanks, +till out of his glass eye the horse seemed to say:</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_208" id="Page_208" />Do that again, and I will throw you to the other side of the +trundle-bed!" Farewell, old house! It did not suit us exactly, but thank +God for the good times we had in it!</p> + +<p>Moving-day is almost gone. It is almost night. Tumble everything into +the new house. Put up the bedsteads. But who has the wrench, and who the +screws? Packed up, are they? In what box? It may be any one of the half +dozen. Ah! now I know in which box you will find it; in the last one you +open! Hungry, are you? No time to talk of food till the crockery is +unpacked. True enough, here they come. That last jolt of the cart +finished the teacups. The jolt before that fractured some of the plates, +and Bridget now drops the rest of them. The Paradise of +crockery-merchants is moving-day. I think, from the results which I see, +that they must about the first of May spend most of their time in +praying for success in business.</p> + +<p>Seated on the boxes, you take tea, and then down with the carpets. They +must be stretched, and pieced, and pulled, and matched. The whole family +are on their knees at the work, and red in the face, and before the +tacks are driven all the fingers have been hammered once and are taking +a second bruising. Nothing is where you expected to find it. Where is +the hammer? Where are the tacks? Where the hatchet? Where the +screw-driver? Where the nails? Where the window-shades? Where is the +slat to that old bedstead? Where are the rollers to that stand? The +sweet-oil has been emptied into the blackberry-jam. The pickles and the +plums have gone out together a-swimming. The lard and the butter have +united as skillfully as though a grocer had mixed them. The children who +thought it would be grand sport to move are satiated, and one-half the +city of New York at the close of<a name="Page_209" id="Page_209" /> May-day go to bed worn out, sick and +disgusted. It is a social earthquake that annually shakes the city.</p> + +<p>It may be that very soon some of our rich relatives will, at their +demise, "will" us each one a house, so that we shall be permanently +fixed. We should be sorry to have them quit the world under any +circumstances; but if, determined to go anyhow, they should leave us a +house, the void would not be so large, especially if it were a house, +well furnished and having all the modern improvements. We would be +thankful for any good advice they might leave us, but should more highly +appreciate a house.</p> + +<p>May all the victims of moving-day find their new home attractive! If +they have gone into a smaller house, let them congratulate themselves at +the thought that it takes less time to keep a small house clean than a +big one. May they have plenty of Spaulding's glue with which to repair +breakages! May the carpets fit better than they expected, and the family +that moved out have taken all their cockroaches and bedbugs with them!</p> + +<p>And, better than all—and this time in sober earnest—by the time that +moving-day comes again, may they have made enough money to buy a house +from which they will never have to move until the House of many mansions +be ready to receive them!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVII" id="CHAPTER_XLVII" /><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210" />CHAPTER XLVII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">ADVANTAGE OF SMALL LIBRARIES.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>We never see a valuable book without wanting it. The most of us have +been struck through with a passion for books. Town, city and state +libraries to us are an enchantment. We hear of a private library of ten +thousand volumes, and think what a heaven the owner must be living in. +But the probability is that the man who has five hundred volumes is +better off than the man who has five thousand. The large private +libraries in uniform editions, and unbroken sets, and Russia covers, +are, for the most part, the idlers of the day; while the small +libraries, with broken-backed books, and turned-down leaves, and +lead-pencil scribbles in the margin, are doing the chief work for the +world and the Church.</p> + +<p>For the most part, the owners of large collections have their chief +anxiety about the binding and the type. Take down the whole set of +Walter Scott's novels, and find that only one of them has been read +through. There are Motley's histories on that shelf; but get into +conversation about the Prince of Orange, and see that Motley has not +been read. I never was more hungry than once while walking in a +Charleston mill amid whole harvests of rice. One handful of that grain +in a pudding would have been worth more to me than a thousand tierces +uncooked. Great libraries are of but little value if unread, and amid +great profusion of books the temptation is to read but little. If a man +take up a book, and feel he will never have a chance to see it again, he +says: "I must read it now or never," and <a name="Page_211" id="Page_211" />before the day is past has +devoured it. The owner of the large library says: "I have it on my +shelf, and any time can refer to it."</p> + +<p>What we can have any time we never have. I found a group of men living +at the foot of Whiteface Mountain who had never been to the top, while I +had come hundreds of miles to ascend it. They could go any time so +easily. It is often the case that those who have plain copies of history +are better acquainted with the past than those who have most highly +adorned editions of Bancroft, Prescott, Josephus and Herodotus. It ought +not so to be, you say. I cannot help that; so it is.</p> + +<p>Books are sometimes too elegantly bound to be read. The gilt, the tinge, +the ivory, the clasps, seem to say: "Hands off!" The thing that most +surprised me in Thomas Carlyle's library was the fewness of the books. +They had all seen service. None of them had paraded in holiday dress. +They were worn and battered. He had flung them at the ages.</p> + +<p>More beautiful than any other adornments are the costly books of a +princely library; but let not the man of small library stand looking +into the garnished alcoves wishing for these unused volumes. The workman +who dines on roast beef and new Irish potatoes will be healthier and +stronger than he who begins with "mock-turtle," and goes up through the +lane of a luxuriant table till he comes to almond-nuts. I put the man of +one hundred books, mastered, against the man of one thousand books of +which he has only a smattering.</p> + +<p>On lecturing routes I have sometimes been turned into costly private +libraries to spend the day; and I reveled in the indexes, and +scrutinized the lids, and set them back in as straight a row as when I +found them, yet learned little. But on my way <a name="Page_212" id="Page_212" />home in the cars I took +out of my satchel a book that had cost me only one dollar and a half, +and afterward found that it had changed the course of my life and helped +decide my eternal destiny.</p> + +<p>We get many letters from clergymen asking advice about reading, and +deploring their lack of books. I warrant they all have books enough to +shake earth and heaven with, if the books were rightly used. A man who +owns a Bible has, to begin with, a library as long as from here to +heaven. The dullest preachers I know of have splendid libraries. They +own everything that has been written on a miracle, and yet when you hear +them preach, if you did not get sound asleep, that would be a miracle. +They have all that Calvin and other learned men wrote about election, +and while you hear them you feel that you have been elected to be bored. +They have been months and years turning over the heavy tomes on the +divine attributes, trying to understand God, while some plain Christian, +with a New Testament in his hand, goes into the next alley, and sees in +the face of an invalid woman peace and light and comfort and joy which +teach him in one hour what God is.</p> + +<p>There are two kinds of dullness—learned dullness and ignorant dullness. +We think the latter preferable, for it is apt to be more spicy. You +cannot measure the length of a man's brain, nor the width of his heart, +nor the extent of his usefulness by the size of his library.</p> + +<p>Life is so short you cannot know everything. There are but few things we +need to know, but let us know them well. People who know everything do +nothing. You cannot read all that comes out. Every book read without +digestion is so much dyspepsia. Sixteen apple-dumplings at one meal are +not healthy.</p> + +<p>In our age, when hundreds of books are launched <a name="Page_213" id="Page_213" />every day from the +press, do not be ashamed to confess ignorance of the majority of the +volumes printed. If you have no artistic appreciation, spend neither +your dollars nor your time on John Ruskin. Do not say that you are fond +of Shakespeare if you are not interested in him, and after a year's +study would not know Romeo from John Falstaff. There is an amazing +amount of lying about Shakespeare.</p> + +<p>Use to the utmost what books you have, and do not waste your time in +longing after a great library. You wish you could live in the city and +have access to some great collection of books. Be not deceived. The book +of the library which you want will be out the day you want it. I longed +to live in town that I might be in proximity to great libraries. Have +lived in town thirteen years, and never found in the public library the +book I asked for but once; and getting that home, I discovered it was +not the one I wanted. Besides, it is the book that you own that most +profits, not that one which you take from "The Athenæum" for a few days.</p> + +<p>Excepting in rare cases, you might as well send to the foundling +hospital and borrow a baby as to borrow a book with the idea of its +being any great satisfaction. We like a baby in our cradle, but prefer +that one which belongs to the household. We like a book, but want to +feel it is ours. We never yet got any advantage from a borrowed book. We +hope those never reaped any profit from the books they borrowed from us, +but never returned. We must have the right to turn down the leaf, and +underscore the favorite passage, and write an observation in the margin +in such poor chirography that no one else can read it and we ourselves +are sometimes confounded.</p> + +<p>All success to great libraries, and skillful book-bindery, and exquisite +typography, and fine-tinted <a name="Page_214" id="Page_214" />plate paper, and beveled boards, and gilt +edges, and Turkey morocco! but we are determined that frescoed alcoves +shall not lord it over common shelves, and Russia binding shall not +overrule sheepskin, and that "full calf" shall not look down on +pasteboard. We war not against great libraries. We only plead for the +better use of small ones.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVIII" id="CHAPTER_XLVIII" /><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215" />CHAPTER XLVIII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">REFORMATION IN LETTER-WRITING.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>We congratulate the country on the revolution in epistolary +correspondence. Through postal cards we not only come to economy in +stamps, and paper, and ink, and envelopes, but to education in brevity. +As soon as men and women get facility in composition they are tempted to +prolixity. Hence some of us formed the habit of beginning to read a +letter on the second page, because we knew that the writer would not get +a-going before that; and then we were apt to stop a page or two before +the close, knowing that the remaining portions would be taken in putting +down the brakes.</p> + +<p>The postal card is a national deliverance. Without the conventional "I +take my pen in hand," or other rigmarole—which being translated means, +"I am not quite <i>ready</i> to begin just now, but will very soon"—the +writer states directly, and in ten or twenty words, all his business.</p> + +<p>While no one can possibly have keener appreciation than we of letters of +sympathy, encouragement and good cheer, there is a vast amount of +letter-writing that amounts to nothing. Some of them we carry in our +pockets, and read over and over again, until they are worn out with +handling. But we average about twenty begging letters a day. They are +always long, the first page taken up in congratulations upon "big +heart," "wide influence," "Christian sympathies," and so on, winding up +with a solicitation for five dollars, more or less. We always know from +the amount of lather put on that we are going to be <a name="Page_216" id="Page_216" />shaved. The postal +card will soon invade even that verbosity, and the correspondent will +simply say, "Poor—very—children ten—chills and fever myself—no +quinine—desperate—your money or your life—Bartholomew Wiggins, Dismal +Swamp, Ia."</p> + +<p>The advantage of such a thing is that, if you do not answer such a +letter no offence is taken, it is so short and costs only a cent; +whereas, if the author had taken a great sheet of letter paper, filled +it with compliments and graceful solicitations, folded it, and run the +gummed edge along the lips at the risk of being poisoned, and stuck on a +stamp (after tedious examination of it to see whether or not it had been +used before, or had only been mauled in your vest pocket), the offence +would have been mortal, and you would have been pronounced mean and +unfit for the ministry.</p> + +<p>Postal cards are likewise a relief to that large class of persons who by +sealed envelope are roused to inquisitiveness. As such a closed letter +lies on the mantel-piece unopened, they wonder whom it is from, and what +is in it, and they hold it up between them and the light to see what are +the indications, and stand close by and look over your shoulder while +you read it, and decipher from your looks whether it is a love-letter or +a dun. The postal card is immediate relief to them, for they can read +for themselves, and can pick up information on various subjects free of +charge.</p> + +<p>But, after all, the great advantage of this new postal arrangement is +economy in the consumption of time. It will practically add several +years to a man's life, and will keep us a thousand times, at the +beginning of our letters, from saying "Dear Sir" to those who are not at +all dear, and will save us from surrendering ourselves with a "Yours, +truly," to those to whom we will never belong. We hail the advent of the +postal-card system.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIX" id="CHAPTER_XLIX" /><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217" />CHAPTER XLIX.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">ROYAL MARRIAGES.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>There has lately been such a jingle of bells in St. Petersburg and +London that we have heard them quite across the sea. The queen's son has +married the daughter of the Russian emperor. We are glad of it. It is +always well to have people marry who are on the same level. The famous +affiancing in New York of a coachman with the daughter of the +millionaire who employed him did not turn out well. It was bad for her, +but worse for the coachman. Eagle and ox are both well in their places, +but let them not marry. The ox would be dizzy in the eyrie, and the +eagle ill at home in the barnyard. When the children of two royal homes +are united, there ought be no begrudging of powder for the cannonading, +or of candles for the illumination. All joy to the Duke of Edinburgh and +his fortunate duchess.</p> + +<p>But let not our friends across the sea imagine that we have no royal +marriages here in this western wilderness. Whenever two hearts come +together pledged to make each other happy, binding all their hopes and +fears and anticipations in one sheaf, calling on God to bless and angels +to witness, though no organ may sound the wedding-march, and no bells +may chime, and no Dean of Westminster travel a thousand miles to +pronounce the ceremony,—that is a royal marriage.</p> + +<p>When two young people start out on life together with nothing but a +determination to succeed, avoiding the invasion of each other's +idiosyncrasies, not carrying the candle near the gunpowder, sympathetic +with each other's em<a name="Page_218" id="Page_218" />ployment, willing to live on small means till they +get large facilities, paying as they go, taking life here as a +discipline, with four eyes watching its perils, and with four hands +fighting its battles, whatever others may say or do,—that is a royal +marriage. It is so set down in the heavenly archives, and the orange +blossoms shall wither on neither side the grave.</p> + +<p>We deplore the fact that because of the fearful extravagances of modern +society many of our best people conclude that they cannot possibly +afford to marry.</p> + +<p>We are getting a fearful crop of old bachelors. They swarm around us. +They go through life lopsided. Half dressed, they sit round cold +mornings, all a-shiver, sewing on buttons and darning socks, and then go +down to a long boarding-house table which is bounded on the north and +south and east and west by the Great Sahara Desert. We do not pity them +at all. May all their buttons be off to-morrow morning! Why do they not +set up a plain home of their own and come into the ark two and two?</p> + +<p>The supporting of a wife is looked upon as a great horror. Why, dear +friends, with right and healthy notions of time and eternity it is very +easy to support a wife if she be of the kind worth supporting. If she be +educated into false notions of refinement and have "young ladies' +institutes" piled on her head till she be imbecile, you will never be +able to support her. Everything depends on whether you take for your +wife a woman or a doll-baby. Our opinion is that three-fourths the +successful men of the day owe much of their prosperity to the wife's +help. The load of life is so heavy it takes a team of two to draw it. +The ship wants not only a captain, but a first mate. Society to-day, +trans-Atlantic and cis-Atlantic, very much needs more royal marriages.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_L" id="CHAPTER_L" /><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219" />CHAPTER L.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">THREE VISITS.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Yesterday was Saturday to you, but it was Sunday to me. In other words, +it was a day of rest. We cannot always be working. If you drive along in +a deep rut, and then try to turn off, you are very apt to break the +shafts. A skillful driver is careful not to get into a deep rut. You +cannot always be keeping on in the same way. We must have times of +leisure and recreation.</p> + +<p>A great deal of Christian work amounts to nothing, from the fact that it +is not prefaced and appendixed by recreation. Better take hold of a +hammer and give one strong stroke and lay it down than to be all the +time so fagged out that we cannot move the hammer.</p> + +<p>Well, yesterday being a day of rest to me, I made three visits in New +York.</p> + +<p>The first was to the Tombs—an institution seemingly full now, a man or +woman or boy at every wicket. A great congregation of burglars, thieves, +pickpockets and murderers. For the most part, they are the clumsy +villains of society; the nimble, spry ones get out of the way, and are +not caught. There are those who are agile as well as depraved in that +dark place. Stokes, representing the aristocracy of crime; Foster, the +democracy of sin; and Rozensweig, the brute. Each cell a commentary upon +the Scripture passage, "The way of the transgressor is hard."</p> + +<p>I was amazed to see that the youth are in the majority in that building. +I said to the turnkey: "What a pity it is that that bright fellow is in +<a name="Page_220" id="Page_220" />here!" "Oh," he says, "these bright fellows keep us busy." I talked +some with the boys, and they laughed; but there was a catch in the +guffaw, as though the laughter on its way had stumbled over a groan. It +was not a deep laugh and a laugh all over, as boys generally do when +they are merry. These boys have had no chance. They have been in the +school of crime all their days, and are now only taking their degree of +"M.V."—master of villainy.</p> + +<p>God hasten the time when our Sabbath-schools, instead of being +flower-pots for a few choice children, shall gather up the perishing +rabble outside, like Ralph Wells' school in New York, and Father +Hawley's school in Hartford, and John Wanamaker's school in +Philadelphia! There is not much chance in our fashionable Sunday-schools +for a boy out at the elbows. Many of our schools pride themselves on +being gilt-edged; and when-we go out to fulfill the Saviour's command, +"Feed my lambs," we look out chiefly for white fleeces. I like that +school the best, which, in addition to the glorious gospel, carries soap +and fine-tooth combs. God save the dying children of the street! I saw a +child in the Tombs four years of age, and said, "What in the world can +this little child be doing here?" They told me the father had been +arrested and the child had to go with him. Allegory, parable, prophecy: +"Where the father goes the child goes." Father inside the grates, and +son outside waiting to get in.</p> + +<p>All through the corridors of that prison I saw Scripture passages: "I am +the way of life;" "Believe in the Lord, and thou shalt be saved;" and +like passages. Who placed them there? The turnkey? No. The sheriff? No. +They are marks left by the city missionary and Christian philanthropist +in recognition of that gospel by <a name="Page_221" id="Page_221" />which the world is to be regenerated +or never saved at all.</p> + +<p>I wish they would get some other name for that—the Tombs—for it is the +cleanest prison I ever saw. But the great want of that prison and of all +others is sunshine. God's light is a purifier. You cannot expect +reformation where you brood over a man with perpetual midnight. Oh that +some Howard or Elizabeth Fry would cry through all the dungeons of the +earth, "Let there be light!" I never heard of anybody being brought to +God or reformed through darkness. God Himself is light, and that which +is most like God is most healthful and pure.</p> + +<p>Saddened by this awful wreck of men and morals, we came along the +corridors where the wives stood weeping at the wicket-door of their +husbands, and parents over their lost children. It was a very sad place. +There were some men I was surprised to find there—men whom I had seen +in other places, in holy places, in consecrated places.</p> + +<p>We came out into the sunlight after that, and found ourselves very soon +in the art-gallery at Twenty-third street. That was my second visit. Mr. +Kensett, the great artist, recently died, and six hundred and fifty of +his pictures are now on exhibition. In contrast with the dark prison +scene, how beautiful the canvas! Mr. Kensett had an irresistible way of +calling trees and rocks and waters into his pictures. He only beckoned +and they came. Once come, he pinioned them for ever. Why, that man could +paint a breeze on the water, so it almost wet your face with the spray. +So restful are his pictures you feel after seeing them as though for +half a day you had been sprawled under a tree in July weather, summered +through and through.</p> + +<p>Thirty of such pictures he painted each year in <a name="Page_222" id="Page_222" />one hundred and twenty +days, and then died—quickly and unwarned, dropping his magician's wand, +to be picked up never. I wondered if he was ready, and if the God whom +he had often met amid the moss on the sea-cliffs and in the offing was +the God who pardoned sin and by His grace saves painter and boor. The +Lord bless the unappreciated artists; they do a glorious work for God +and the world, but for the most part live in penury, and the brightest +color on their palette is crimson with their own blood.</p> + +<p>May the time hasten when the Frenchmen who put on canvas their Cupids +poorly clad, and the Germans who hang up homely Dutch babies in the arms +of the Virgin Mary and call them Madonnas, shall be overruled by the +artists who, like Kensett, make their canvas a psalm of praise to the +Lord of the winds and the waters!</p> + +<p>I stepped across the way into the Young Men's Christian Association of +New York, with its reading-rooms and library and gymnasium and +bath-rooms, all means of grace—a place that proposes to charm young men +from places of sin by making religion attractive. It is a palace for the +Lord—the pride of New York, or ought to be; I do not believe it really +is, but it ought to be. It is fifty churches with its arms of Christian +usefulness stretched out toward the young men.</p> + +<p>If a young man come in mentally worn out, it gives him dumb-bells, +parallel bars and a bowling-alley with no rum at either end of it. If +physically worsted, it rests him amid pictures and books and newspapers. +If a young man come in wanting something for the soul, there are the +Bible-classes, prayer-meetings and preaching of the gospel.</p> + +<p>Religion wears no monk's cowl in that place, no hair shirt, no spiked +sandals, but the floor and the ceiling and the lounges and the tables +and the <a name="Page_223" id="Page_223" />cheerful attendants seem to say: "Her ways are ways of +pleasantness, and all her paths are peace."</p> + +<p>I never saw a more beautiful scene in any public building than on one of +these bright sofas, fit for any parlor in New York, where lay a weary, +plain, exhausted man resting—sound asleep.</p> + +<p>Another triumph of Christianity that building is—a Christianity that is +erecting lighthouses on all the coasts, and planting its batteries on +every hill-top, and spreading its banquets all the world over.</p> + +<p>Well, with these reflections I started for Brooklyn. It was just after +six o'clock, and tired New York was going home. Street cars and ferries +all crowded. Going home! Some to bright places; to be lovingly greeted +and warmed and fed and rested. Others to places dark and uncomely; but +as I sat down in my own home I could not help thinking of the three +spectacles. I had seen during the day Sin, in its shame; Art, in its +beauty; Religion, in its work of love. God give repentance to the first, +wider appreciation to the second, and universal conquest to the third!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LI" id="CHAPTER_LI" /><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224" />CHAPTER LI.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">MANAHACHTANIENKS.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>We should like to tell so many of our readers as have survived the +pronunciation of the above word that the Indians first called the site +on which New York was built Manahachtanienks. The translation of it is, +"The place where they all got drunk." Most uncomplimentary title; We are +glad that it has been changed; for though New York has several thousand +unlicensed grogshops, we consider the name inappropriate, although, if +intemperance continues to increase as rapidly for the next hundred years +as during the last twenty years, the time will come when New York may +appropriately take its old Indian nomenclature.</p> + +<p>Old-time New York is being rapidly forgotten, and it may be well to +revive some historical facts. At an expense of three thousand dollars a +year men with guide-book in hand go through the pyramids of Egypt and +the picture-galleries of Rome and the ruins of Pompeii, when they have +never seen the strange and historical scenes at home.</p> + +<p>We advise the people who live in Brooklyn, Jersey City and up-town New +York to go on an exploration.</p> + +<p>Go to No. 1 Broadway and remember that George Washington and Lord +Cornwallis once lived there.</p> + +<p>Go to the United States Treasury, on Wall Street, and remember that in +front of it used to stand a pillory and a whipping-post.</p> + +<p>In a building that stood where the United States<a name="Page_225" id="Page_225" /> Treasury stands, +General Washington was installed as President. In the open balcony he +stood with silver buckles and powdered hair, in dress of dark silk +velvet. (People in those days dressed more than we moderns. Think of +James Buchanan or General Grant inaugurated with hair and shoes fixed up +like that!)</p> + +<p>Go to the corner of Pearl and Broad streets, and remember that was the +scene of Washington's farewell to the officers with whom he had been so +long associated.</p> + +<p>Go to Canal street, and remember it was so called because it once was +literally a canal.</p> + +<p>The electric telegraph was born in the steeple of the old Dutch Church, +now the New York post-office—that is, Benjamin Franklin made there his +first experiments in electricity. When the other denominations charge +the Dutch Church with being slow, they do not know that the world got +its lightning out of one of its church steeples.</p> + +<p>Washington Irving was born in William street, halfway between John and +Fulton. "Knickerbocker" was considered very saucy; but if any man ever +had a right to say mirthful things about New York, it was Washington +Irving, who was born there. At the corner of Varick and Charlton streets +was a house in which Washington, John Adams and Aaron Burr resided.</p> + +<p>George Whitefield preached at the corner of Beekman and Nassau streets.</p> + +<p>But why particularize, when there is not a block or a house on the great +thoroughfare which has not been the scene of a tragedy, a fortune +ruined, a reputation sacrificed, an agony suffered or a soul lost?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LII" id="CHAPTER_LII" /><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226" />CHAPTER LII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">A DIP IN THE SEA.</p> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Shakespeare has been fiercely mauled by the critics for confusion of +metaphor in speaking of taking up "arms against a sea of troubles." The +smart fellows say, How could a man take "arms against a sea?" In other +words, it is not possible to shoot the Pacific Ocean. But what +Shakespeare suggests is, this jocund morning, being done all around the +coast from Florida to Newfoundland, especial regiments going out from +Cape May, Long Branch, East Hampton, Newport and Nahant; ten thousand +bathers, with hands thrown into the air, "taking up arms against the +sea." But the old giant has only to roll over once on his bed of +seaweed, and all this attacking host are flung prostrate upon the beach.</p> + +<p>The sensation of sea-bathing is about the same everywhere. First you +have the work of putting on the appropriate dress, sometimes wet and +chill from the previous bathing. You get into the garments cautiously, +touching them at as few points as possible, your face askew, and with a +swift draft of breath through your front teeth, punctuating the final +lodgment of each sleeve and fold with a spasmodic "Oh!" Then, having +placed your watch where no villainous straggler may be induced to +examine it to see whether he can get to the depot in time for the next +train, you issue forth ingloriously, your head down in consciousness +that you are cutting a sorry figure before the world. Barefoot as a +mendicant, your hair disheveled in the wind, the stripes of your clothes +strongly suggestive of Sing Sing, your <a name="Page_227" id="Page_227" />appearance a caricature of +humankind, you wander up and down the beach a creature that the land is +evidently trying to shake off and the sea is unwilling to take. But you +are consoled by the fact that all the rest are as mean and +forlorn-looking as yourself; and so you wade in, over foot-top, unto the +knee, and waist deep. The water is icy-cold, so that your teeth chatter +and your frame quakes, until you make a bold dive; and in a moment you +and the sea are good friends, and you are not certain whether you have +surrendered to the ocean or the ocean has surrendered to you.</p> + +<p>At this point begin the raptures of bathing. You have left the world on +the beach, and are caught up in the arms of experiences that you never +feel on land. If you are far enough out, the breaking wave curves over +you like a roof inlaid and prismatic, bending down on the other side of +you in layers of chalk and drifts of snow, and the lightning flash of +the foam ends in the thunder of the falling wave. You fling aside from +your arms, as worthless, amethyst and emerald and chrysoprase. Your ears +are filled with the halo of sporting elements, and your eyes with all +tints and tinges and double-dyes and liquid emblazonment. You leap and +shout and clap your hands, and tell the billows to come on, and in +excess of glee greet persons that you never saw before and never will +again, and never want to, and act so wildly that others would think you +demented but that they also are as fully let loose; so that if there be +one imbecile there is a whole asylum of lunatics.</p> + +<p>It is astonishing how many sounds mingle in the water: the faint squall +of the affrighted child, the shrill shriek of the lady just introduced +to the uproarious hilarities, the souse of the diver, the snort of the +half-strangled, the clear giggle of <a name="Page_228" id="Page_228" />maidens, the hoarse bellow of +swamped obesity, the whine of the convalescent invalid, the yell of +unmixed delight, the te-hee and squeak of the city exquisite learning +how to laugh out loud, the splash of the brine, the cachinnation of a +band of harmless savages, the stun of the surge on your right ear, the +hiss of the surf, the saturnalia of the elements; while overpowering all +other sounds are the orchestral harmonics of the sea, which roll on +through the ages, all shells, all winds, all caverns, all billows heard +in "the oratorio of the creation."</p> + +<p>But while bathing, the ludicrous will often break through the grand. +Swept hither and thither, you find, moving in reel and cotillon, +saraband and rigadoon and hornpipe, Quakers and Presbyterians who are +down on the dance. Your sparse clothing feels the stress of the waves, +and you think what an awful thing it would be if the girdle should burst +or a button break, and you should have, out of respect to the feelings +of others, to go up the beach sidewise or backward or on your hands and +knees.</p> + +<p>Close beside you, in the surf, is a judge of the Court of Appeals, with +a garment on that looks like his grandmother's night-gown just lifted +from the wash-tub and not yet wrung out. On the other side is a maiden +with a twenty-five-cent straw hat on a head that ordinarily sports a +hundred dollars' worth of millinery. Yonder is a doctor of divinity with +his head in the sand and his feet beating the air, traveling heavenward, +while his right hand clutches his wife's foot, as much as to say, "My +feet are useless in this emergency; give me the benefit of yours."</p> + +<p>Now a stronger wave, for which none are ready, dashes in, and with it +tumble ashore, in one great wreck of humanity, small craft and large, +stout hulk and swift clipper, helm first, topsail <a name="Page_229" id="Page_229" />down, forestay-sail +in tatters, keel up, everything gone to pieces in the swash of the +surges.</p> + +<p>Oh, the glee of sea-bathing! It rouses the apathetic. It upsets the +supercilious and pragmatical. It is balsamic for mental wounds. It is a +tonic for those who need strength, and an anodyne for those who require +soothing, and a febrifuge for those who want their blood cooled; a +filling up for minds pumped dry, a breviary for the superstitious with +endless matins and vespers, and to the Christian an apocalyptic vision +where the morning sun gilds the waters, and there is spread before him +"a sea of glass mingled with fire." "Thy way, O God, is in the sea, and +thy path in the great waters!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LIII" id="CHAPTER_LIII" /><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230" />CHAPTER LIII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">HARD SHELL CONSIDERATIONS.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>The plumage of the robin red-breast, the mottled sides of the Saranac +trout, the upholstery of a spider's web, the waist of the wasp +fashionably small without tight lacing, the lustrous eye of the gazelle, +the ganglia of the star-fish, have been discoursed upon; but it is left +to us, fagged out from a long ramble, to sit down on a log and celebrate +the admirable qualities of a turtle. We refer not to the curious +architecture of its house—ribbed, plated, jointed, carapace and +plastron divinely fashioned—but to its instincts, worthy almost of +being called mental and moral qualities.</p> + +<p>The tortoise is wiser than many people we wot of, in the fact that he +knows when to keep his head in his shell. No sooner did we just now +appear on the edge of the wood than this animal of the order Testudinata +modestly withdrew. He knew he was no match for us. But how many of the +human race are in the habit of projecting their heads into things for +which they have no fittedness! They thrust themselves into discussions +where they are almost sure to get trod on. They will dispute about +vertebrae with Cuvier, or metaphysics with William Hamilton, or +paintings with Ruskin, or medicine with Doctor Rush, and attempt to +sting Professor Jaeger to death with his own insects. The first and last +important lesson for such persons to learn is, like this animal at our +foot, to shut up their shell. If they could see how, in the case of this +roadside tortoise, at our appearance the carapace suddenly <a name="Page_231" id="Page_231" />came down on +the plastron, or, in other words, how the upper bone snapped against the +lower bone, they might become as wise as this reptile.</p> + +<p>We admire also the turtle's capacity of being at home everywhere. He +carries with him his parlor, nursery, kitchen, bed-chamber and bathroom. +Would that we all had an equal faculty of domestication! In such a +beautiful world, and with so many comfortable surroundings, we ought to +feel at home in any place we are called to be. While we cannot, like the +tortoise, carry our house on our back, we are better off than he, for by +the right culture of a contented spirit we may make the sky itself the +mottled shell of our residence, and the horizon all around us shall be +the place where the carapace shuts down on the plastron.</p> + +<p>We admire still more the tortoise's determination to right itself. By +way of experiment, turn it upside down, and then go off a piece to see +it regain its position. Now, there is nothing when put upon its back +which has such little prospect of getting to its feet again as this +animal. It has no hands to push with and nothing against which to brace +its feet, and one would think that a turtle once upside down would be +upside down for ever. But put on its back, it keeps on scrabbling till +it is right side up. We would like to pick up this animal from the dust +and put it down on Broadway, if men passing by would learn from it never +to stop exertion, even when overthrown. You cannot by commercial +disasters be more thoroughly flat on your back than five minutes ago was +this poor thing; but see it yonder nimbly making for the bushes. +Vanderbilt or Jay Gould may treat you as we did the tortoise a few +moments ago. But do not lie still, discouraged. Make an effort to get +up. Throw your feet out, first in one direction and then in another. +Scrabble!</p> + +<p><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232" />We find from this day's roadside observation that the turtle uses its +head before it does its feet: in other words, it looks around before it +moves. You never catch a turtle doing anything without previous careful +inspection. We would, all of us, do better if we always looked before we +leaped. It is easier to get into trouble than to get out. Better have +goods weighed before we buy them. Better know where a road comes out +before we start on it. We caught one hundred flies in our sitting-room +yesterday because they sacrificed all their caution to a love of +molasses. Better use your brain before you do your hands and feet. +Before starting, the turtle always sticks its head out of its shell.</p> + +<p>But tortoises die. They sometimes last two hundred years. We read that +one of them outlived seven bishops. They have a quiet life and no wear +and tear upon their nervous system. Yet they, after a while, +notwithstanding all their glow travel, reach the end of their journey. +For the last time they draw their head inside their shell and shut out +the world for ever. But notwithstanding the useful thoughts they suggest +while living, they are of still more worth when dead. We fashion their +bodies into soup and their carapace into combs for the hair, and tinged +drops for the ear, and bracelets for the wrist. One of Delmonico's soup +tureens is waiting for the hero we celebrate, and Tiffany for his eight +plates of bone. Will we be as useful after we are dead? Some men are +thrown aside like a turtle-shell crushed by a cart-wheel; but others, by +deeds done or words spoken, are useful long after they quit life, their +example an encouragement, their memory a banquet. He who helps build an +asylum or gives healthful and cultured starting to a young man may +twenty years after his decease be doing more for the world than during +<a name="Page_233" id="Page_233" />his residence upon it. Stephen Girard and George Peabody are of more +use to the race than when Philadelphia and London saw them.</p> + +<p>But we must get up off this log, for the ante are crawling over us, and +the bull-frogs croak as though the night were coming on. The evening +star hangs its lantern at the door of the night to light the tired day +to rest. The wild roses in the thicket are breathing vespers at an altar +cushioned with moss, while the fire-flies are kindling their dim lamps +in the cathedral of the woods. The evening dew on strings of fern is +counting its beads in prayer. The "Whip-poor-will" takes up its notes of +complaint, making us wonder on our way home what "Will" it was that in +boyhood maltreated the ancestors of this species of birds, whether +William Wordsworth, or William Cowper, or William Shakspeare, so that +the feathered descendants keep through all the forests, year after year, +demanding for the cruel perpetrator a sound threshing, forgetting the +Bryant that praised them and the Tennyson that petted them and the Jean +Ingelow who throws them crumbs, in their anxiety to have some one whip +poor Will.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LIV" id="CHAPTER_LIV" /><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234" />CHAPTER LIV.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">WISEMAN, HEAVYASBRICKS AND QUIZZLE.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>We had muffins that night. Indeed, we always had either muffins or +waffles when Governor Wiseman was at tea. The reason for this choice of +food was that a muffin or a waffle seemed just suited to the size of +Wiseman's paragraphs of conversation. In other words, a muffin lasted +him about as long as any one subject of discourse; and when the muffin +was done, the subject was done.</p> + +<p>We never knew why he was called governor, for he certainly never ruled +over any State, but perhaps it was his wise look that got him the name. +He never laughed; had his round spectacles far down on the end of his +nose, so that he could see as far into his plate as any man that ever +sat at our tea-table. When he talked, the conversation was all on his +side. He considered himself oracular on most subjects. You had but to +ask him a question, and without lifting his head, his eye vibrating from +fork to muffin, he would go on till he had said all he knew on that +theme. We did not invite him to our house more than once in about three +months, for too much of a good thing is a bad thing.</p> + +<p>At the same sitting we always had our young friend Fred Quizzle. He did +not know much, but he was mighty in asking questions. So when we had +Governor Wiseman, the well, we had Quizzle, the pump.</p> + +<p>Fred was long and thin and jerky, and you never knew just where he would +put his foot. Indeed, he was not certain himself. He was <a name="Page_235" id="Page_235" />thoroughly +illogical, and the question he asked would sometimes seem quite foreign +to the subject being discoursed upon. His legs were crooked and reminded +you of interrogation points, and his arms were interrogations, and his +neck was an interrogation, while his eyes had a very inquisitive look.</p> + +<p>Fred Quizzle did not talk until over two years of age, notwithstanding +all his parents' exertions toward getting him to say "papa" and "mamma." +After his parents had made up their minds that he would never talk at +all, he one day rose from his block houses, looked into his father's +eyes, and cried out, "How?" as if inquiring in what manner he had found +his way into this world. His parent, outraged at the child's choice of +an adverb for his first expression instead of a noun masculine or a noun +feminine indicative of filial affection, proceeded to chastise the +youngster, when Fred Quizzle cried out for his second, "Why?" as though +inquiring the cause of such hasty punishment.</p> + +<p>This early propensity for asking questions grew on him till at +twenty-three years of age he was a prodigy in this respect. So when we +had Governor Wiseman we also had Fred Quizzle, the former to discourse, +the latter to start him and keep him going.</p> + +<p>Doctor Heavyasbricks was generally present at the same interview. We +took the doctor as a sort of sedative. After a season of hard work and +nervous excitement, Doctor Heavyasbricks had a quieting influence upon +us. There was no lightning in his disposition. He was a great laugher, +but never at any recent merriment. It took a long while for him to +understand a joke. Indeed, if it were subtle or elaborate, he never +understood it. But give the doctor, when in good health, a plain pun or +repartee, and let him <a name="Page_236" id="Page_236" />have a day or two to think over it, and he would +come in with uproarious merriment that well-nigh would choke him to +death, if the paroxysm happened to take him with his mouth full of +muffins.</p> + +<p>When at our table, the time not positively occupied in mastication he +employed in looking first at Quizzle, the interlocutor, and then at +Governor Wiseman, the responding oracle.</p> + +<p>Quizzle.—How have you, Governor Wiseman, kept yourself in such robust +health so long a time?</p> + +<p>Wiseman.—By never trifling with it, sir. I never eat muffins too hot. +This one, you see, has had some time to cool. Besides, when I am at all +disordered, I immediately send for the doctor.</p> + +<p>There are books proposing that we all become our own medical attendant. +Whenever we are seized with any sort of physical disorder, we are to +take down some volume in homeopathy, allopathy, hydropathy, and running +our finger along the index, alight upon the malady that may be +afflicting us. We shall find in the same page the name of the disease +and the remedy. Thus: chapped hands—glycerine; cold—squills; +lumbago—mustard-plasters; nervous excitement—valerian; +sleeplessness—Dover's powders.</p> + +<p>This may be very well for slight ailments, but we have attended more +funerals of people who were their own doctor than obsequies of any other +sort. In your inexperience you will be apt to get the wrong remedy. Look +out for the agriculturist who farms by book, neglecting the counsel of +his long-experienced neighbors. He will have poor turnips and starveling +wheat, and kill his fields with undue apportionments of guano and +bonedust. Look out just as much for the patient who in the worship of +some "pathy" blindly <a name="Page_237" id="Page_237" />adheres to a favorite hygienic volume, rejecting +in important cases medical admonition.</p> + +<p>In ordinary cases the best doctor you can have is mother or grandmother, +who has piloted through the rocks of infantile disease a whole family. +She has salve for almost everything, and knows how to bind a wound or +cool an inflammation. But if mother be dead or you are afflicted with a +maternal ancestor that never knew anything practical, and never ill, +better in severe cases have the doctor right away. You say that it is +expensive to do that, while a book on the treatment of diseases will +cost you only a dollar and a half. I reply that in the end it is very +expensive for an inexperienced man to be his own doctor; for in addition +to the price of the book there are the undertaker's expenses.</p> + +<p>Some of the younger persons at the table laughed at the closing sentence +of Wiseman, when Doctor Heavyasbricks looked up, put down his knife and +said: "My young friends, what are you laughing at? I see no cause of +merriment in the phrase 'undertaker's expenses.' It seems to me to be a +sad business. When I think of the scenes amid which an undertaker moves, +I feel more like tears than hilarity."</p> + +<p>Quizzle.—If you are opposed, Governor Wiseman, to one's being his own +doctor, what do you think of every man's being his own lawyer?</p> + +<p>Wiseman.—I think just as badly of that.</p> + +<p>Books setting forth forms for deeds, mortgages, notes, and contracts, +are no doubt valuable. It should be a part of every young man's +education to know something of these. We cannot for the small business +transactions of life be hunting up the "attorney-at-law" or the village +squire. But economy in the transfer of property or in the making of +wills is sometimes a permanent disaster. There are so many quirks in the +law, so <a name="Page_238" id="Page_238" />many hiding-places for scamps, so many modes of twisting +phraseology, so many decisions, precedents and rulings, so many John +Does who have brought suits against Richard Roes, that you had better in +all important business matters seek out an honest lawyer.</p> + +<p>"There are none such!" cries out Quizzle.</p> + +<p>Why, where have you lived? There are as many honest men in the legal +profession as in any other, and rogues more than enough in all +professions. Many a farmer, going down to attend court in the +county-seat, takes a load of produce to the market, carefully putting +the specked apples at the bottom of the barrel, and hiding among the +fresh ones the egg which some discouraged hen after five weeks of +"setting" had abandoned, and having secured the sale of his produce and +lost his suit in the "Court of Common Pleas," has come home denouncing +the scoundrelism of attorneys.</p> + +<p>You shall find plenty of honest lawyers if you really need them; and in +matters involving large interests you had better employ them.</p> + +<p>Especially avoid the mistake of making your own "last will and +testament" unless you have great legal skillfulness. Better leave no +will at all than one inefficiently constructed. The "Orphans' Court" +could tell many a tragedy of property distributed adverse to the +intention of the testator. You save twenty to a hundred dollars from +your counsel by writing your own will, and your heirs pay ten thousand +dollars to lawyers in disputes over it. Perhaps those whom you have +wished especially to favor will get the least of your estate, and a +relative against whom you always had especial dislike will get the most, +and your charities will be apportioned differently from what you +anticipated—a hundred dollars to the Bible Society, and three thousand +to the "hook and ladder company."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239" />Quizzle.—Do you not think, governor (to go back to the subject from +which we wandered), that your good spirits have had much to do with your +good health?</p> + +<p>Wiseman.—No doubt. I see no reason why, because I am advancing in +years, I should become melancholy.</p> + +<p>One of the heartiest things I have seen of late is the letter of Rev. +Dr. Dowling as he retires from active work in the ministry. He hands +over his work to the younger brethren without sigh, or groan, or regret. +He sees the sun is quite far down in the west, and he feels like hanging +up his scythe in the first apple tree he comes to. Our opinion is that +he has made a little mistake in the time of day, and that while he +thinks it is about half-past five in the afternoon, it is only about +three. I guess his watch is out of order, and that he has been led to +think it later than it really is. But when we remember how much good he +has done, we will not begrudge him his rest either here or hereafter.</p> + +<p>At any rate, taking the doctor's cheerful valedictory for a text, I +might preach a little bit of a sermon on the best way of getting old. Do +not be fretted because you have to come to spectacles. While glasses +look premature on a young man's nose, they are an adornment on an +octogenarian's face. Besides that, when your eyesight is poor, you miss +seeing a great many unpleasant things that youngsters are obliged to +look at.</p> + +<p>Do not be worried because your ear is becoming dull. In that way you +escape being bored with many of the foolish things that are said. If the +gates of sound keep out some of the music, they also keep out much of +the discord. If the hair be getting thin, it takes less time to comb it, +and then it is not all the time falling down over your eyes; or if it be +getting white, I think <a name="Page_240" id="Page_240" />that color is quite as respectable as any other: +that is the color of the snow, and of the blossoms, and of the clouds, +and of angelic habiliments.</p> + +<p>Do not worry because the time comes on when you must go into the next +world. It is only a better room, with finer pictures, brighter society +and sweeter music. Robert McCheyne, and John Knox, and Harriet Newell, +and Mrs. Hemans, and John Milton, and Martin Luther will be good enough +company for the most of us. The cornshocks standing in the fields to-day +will not sigh dismally when the buskers leap over the fence, and +throwing their arms around the stack, swing it to the ground. It is only +to take the golden ear from the husk. Death to the aged Christian is +only husking-time, and then the load goes in from the frosts to the +garner.</p> + +<p>My congratulations to those who are nearly done with the nuisances of +this world. Give your staff to your little grandson to ride horse on. +You are going to be young again, and you will have no need of crutches. +May the clouds around the setting sun be golden, and such as to lead the +"weather-wise" to prophesy a dear morning!</p> + +<p>Quizzle.—But, Governor Wiseman, does it not give you a little +uneasiness in this day of so much talk about cremation as to what will +become of your body after you leave this sphere?</p> + +<p>At this point Doctor Heavyasbricks wiped his spectacles, as though he +could not see well, and interrupted the conversation by saying, +"Cremation! Cremation! What's that?" Sitting at the head of the table, I +explained that it was the reduction of the deceased human body through +fire into ashes to be preserved in an urn. "Ah! ah!" said Doctor +Heavyasbricks, "I had the idea, from the sound of that word 'cremation,' +it must be something connected with cream. I will <a name="Page_241" id="Page_241" />take a little more of +that delicious bovine liquid in my tea, if you please," said the doctor +as he passed his cup toward the urn, adding, to the lady of the house, +"I hope that urn you have your hand on has nothing to do with +cremation." This explanation having been made, Governor Wiseman +proceeded to answer the question of Quizzle:</p> + +<p>No; I have no uneasiness about my body after I have left it. The idea +you speak of will never be carried out. I know that the papers are +ardently discussing whether or not it will be best to burn the bodies of +the dead, instead of burying them. Scientific journals contend that our +cemeteries are the means of unhealthy exhalations, and that cremation is +the only safe way of disposing of the departed. Some have advocated the +chemical reduction of the physical system.</p> + +<p>I have, as yet, been unable to throw myself into a mood sufficiently +scientific to appreciate this proposal. It seems to me partly horrible +and partly ludicrous. I think that the dead populations of the world are +really the most quiet and unharmful. They make no war upon us, and we +need make no war upon them. I am very certain that all the damage we +shall ever do this world, will be while we are animate. It is not the +dead people that are hard to manage, but the living. Some whistle to +keep their courage up while going along by graveyards; I whistle while +moving among the wide awake. Before attempting this barbaric disposal of +the human form as a sanitary improvement, it would be better to clear +the streets and "commons" of our cities of their pestiferous +surroundings. Try your cremation on the dogs and cats with extinct +animation.</p> + +<p>We think Greenwood is healthier than Broadway, and Laurel Hill than +Chestnut street, Père la Chaise than Champs Elysées. Urns, with <a name="Page_242" id="Page_242" />ashes +scientifically prepared, may look very well in Madras or Pekin, but not +in a Christian country. Not having been able to shake off the Bible +notions about Christian burial, we adhere to the mode that was observed +when devout men carried Stephen to his burial. Better not come around +here with your chemical apparatus for the reduction of the human body. I +give fair warning that if your philosopher attempts such a process on my +bones, and I am of the same way of thinking as now, he will be sorry for +it.</p> + +<p>But I have no fear that I shall thus be desecrated by my surviving +friends. I have more fear of epitaphs. I do not wonder that people have +sometimes dictated the inscription on their own tombstones when I see +what inappropriate lines are chiseled on many a slab. There needs to be +a reformation in epitaphiology.</p> + +<p>People often ask me for appropriate inscriptions for the graves of their +dead. They tell the virtues of the father, or wife, or child, and want +me to put in compressed shape all that catalogue of excellences.</p> + +<p>Of course I fail in the attempt. The story of a lifetime cannot be +chiseled by the stone-cutter on the side of a marble slab. But it is not +a rare thing to go a few months after by the sacred spot and find that +the bereft friends, unable to get from others an epitaph sufficiently +eulogistic, have put their own brain and heart to work and composed a +rhyme. Now, the most unfit sphere on earth for an inexperienced mind to +exercise the poetic faculty is in epitaphiology. It does very well in +copy-books, but it is most unfair to blot the resting-place of the dead +with unskilled poetic scribble. It seems to me that the owners of +cemeteries and graveyards should keep in their own hand the right to +refuse inappropriate and ludicrous epitaph.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243" />Nine-tenths of those who think they can write respectable poetry are +mistaken. I do not say that poesy has passed from the earth, but it does +seem as if the fountain Hippocrene had been drained off to run a +saw-mill. It is safe to say that most of the home-made poetry of +graveyards is an offence to God and man.</p> + +<p>One would have thought that the New Hampshire village would have risen +in mob to prevent the inscription that was really placed on one of its +tombstones descriptive of a man who had lost his life at the foot of a +vicious mare on the way to brook:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="poem">"As this man was leading her to drink</span> +<span class="poem">She kick'd and kill'd him quicker'n a wink."</span> +</div> + +<p>One would have thought that even conservative New Jersey would have been +in rebellion at a child's epitaph which in a village of that State reads +thus:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="poem">"She was not smart, she was not fair,</span> +<span class="poem">But hearts with grief for her are swellin';</span> +<span class="poem">All empty stands her little chair:</span> +<span class="poem">She died of eatin' watermelon."</span> +</div> + +<p>Let not such discretions be allowed in hallowed places. Let not +poetizers practice on the tombstone. My uniform advice to all those who +want acceptable and suggestive epitaph is, Take a passage of Scripture. +That will never wear out. From generation to generation it will bring +down upon all visitors a holy hush; and if before that stone has +crumbled the day comes for waking up of all the graveyard sleepers, the +very words chiseled on the marble may be the ones that shall ring from +the trumpet of the archangel.</p> + +<p>While the governor was buttering another muffin, and, according to the +dietetic principle a little while ago announced, allowing it +sufficiently <a name="Page_244" id="Page_244" />to cool off, he continued the subject already opened by +saying: I keep well by allowing hardly anything to trouble me, and by +looking on the bright side of everything. One half of the people fret +themselves to death.</p> + +<p>Four months ago the air was full of evil prophecies. If a man believed +one half he saw in the newspapers, he must have felt that this world was +a failure, not paying more than ten cents on a dollar. To one good +prophet like Isaiah or Ezekiel we had a thousand Balaams, each mounted +on his appropriate nag.</p> + +<p>First came the fearful announcement that in consequence of the financial +depression we would have bread-riots innumerable and great slaughter. +But where have been your riots? There was here and there a swinging of +shillalahs, and a few broken heads which would probably have got broken +anyhow; but the men who made the disturbance were found to be lounging +vagabonds who never worked even when they had a chance.</p> + +<p>Prophecy was also made that there would be a general starvation. We do +not believe that in the United States there have been twenty sober +people famished in the last year. Aware of the unusual stress upon the +poor, the hand of charity has been more active and full than ever; and +though many have been denied their accustomed luxuries, there has been +bread for all.</p> + +<p>Weather prophets also promised us a winter of unusual severity. They +knew it from the amount of investment the squirrels had made in winter +stock, and from the superabundance of wool on the sheep's back, and the +lavishness of the dog's hair. Are the liars ready to confess their +fault? The boys have found but little chance to use their skates, and I +think the sheep-shearing of the flocks on celestial pasture-fields must +have been omitted, judging from the small amount of snowy <a name="Page_245" id="Page_245" />fleece that +has fallen through the air. I have not had on my big mittens but once or +twice, and my long-ago frost-bitten left ear has not demanded an extra +pinching. To make up for the lack of fuel on the hearth, the great brass +handiron of the sun has been kept unusually bright and hot. And +yesterday we heard the horn of the south wind telling that the flowery +bands of spring are on the way up from Florida.</p> + +<p>The necessity for retrenchment has blessed the whole land. Many of us +have learned how to make a thousand dollars do what fifteen hundred +dollars—</p> + +<p>Quizzle broke in at the first opportunity and said, "No doubt, governor, +it is easy for you to be placid, for everything has gone well with you +since you started life, whereas my mother died when I was little, and I +was kicked and cuffed about by a step-mother whose name I cannot bear to +hear."</p> + +<p>Ha! ha! said Governor Wiseman. It is the old story of step-mothers. I +don't believe they are any worse than other people, taking the average. +I have often wondered why it is that the novels and romances always make +the step-mother turn out so very badly. She always dresses too much and +bangs the children. The authors, if writing out of their own experience, +must have had a very hard time.</p> + +<p>In society it has become a proverb: "Cruel as a step-mother." I am +disposed, however, to think that, while there may be marked exceptions, +step-mothers are the most self-sacrificing beings in all the world. They +come into the family scrutinized by the household and the relatives of +the one who used to occupy the motherly position. Neighborly busybodies +meet the children on the street and sigh over them and ask them how +their new mother treats them. The wardrobe of <a name="Page_246" id="Page_246" />the youngsters comes +under the severe inspection of outsiders.</p> + +<p>The child, haying been taught that the lady of the household is "nothing +but a step-mother," screams at the least chastisement, knowing that the +neighbors' window is up and this will be a good way of making +publication. That is called cruelty which is only a most reasonable, +moderate and Christian spanking. What a job she has in navigating a +whole nursery of somebody else's children through mumps, measles, +whooping-cough and chicken-pox! One of the things that I rejoice over in +life is that it is impossible that I ever become a step-mother. In many +cases she has the largest possible toil for the least reward.</p> + +<p>Blessed be the Lord who setteth the solitary in families that there are +glorious exceptions! The new mother comes to the new home, and the +children gather the first day around her as the natural protector. They +never know the difference between the first and second mother. They seem +like two verses of the same hymn, two days of the summer, two strokes of +the same bell, two blessings from the same God.</p> + +<p>She is watchful all night long over the sick little one, bathing the +brow and banishing the scare of the feverish dream. After a while those +children will rise up to do her honor; and when her work is done, she +will go up to get the large reward that awaits a faithful, great-hearted +Christian step-mother in the land where the neighbors all mind their own +business.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LV" id="CHAPTER_LV" /><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247" />CHAPTER LV.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">A LAYER OF WAFFLES.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Several months had passed along since we had enjoyed the society of +Governor Wiseman, Doctor Heavyasbricks and Fred Quizzle. At our especial +call they had come again.</p> + +<p>The evening air was redolent with waffles baked in irons that had given +them the square imprint which has come down through the ages as the only +orthodox pattern.</p> + +<p>No sooner had our friends seated themselves at the tea-table than—</p> + +<p>Quizzle began: I see, Governor Wiseman, that the races have just come +off in England. What do you think of horse-racing?</p> + +<p>Wiseman.—That has become a very important question for every moralist +to answer. I see that last week England took carriage and horses and +went out to Epsom Downs to see the Derby races. The race was won by Sir +George Frederick; that is the name of the successful horse. All the +particulars come by telegraph. There is much now being done for the turf +in this country as well as in England, and these horses are improved +year by year. I wonder if the race of men who frequent these +entertainments are as much improved as the horses? I like horses very +much, but I like men better. So far as we can judge, the horses are +getting the best part of these exercises, for they never bet, and always +come home sober. If the horses continue to come up as much as they have, +and our sporting friends continue to go down in the same ratio, by an +inevitable law of progression we shall after a while have two men going +round the course neck and neck, while Dexter and<a name="Page_248" id="Page_248" /> Sir George Frederick +are on the judges' stand deciding which man is the winner.</p> + +<p>Quizzle.—But do you not, Governor Wiseman, believe in out-door sports +and recreations?</p> + +<p>Yes, said the governor, but it ought to be something that helps a man as +well as the brute. I prefer those recreations that are good both for a +man's body and soul. We want our entire nature developed.</p> + +<p>Two thousand people one morning waited at the depot in Albany for the +arrival of the remains of the great pugilist, Heenan. Then they covered +the coffin with immortelles. No wonder they felt badly. The poor +fellow's work was done. He had broken the last nose. He had knocked out +the last tooth. He had bunged up the last eye. He had at last himself +thrown up the sponge. The dead hero belonged to the aristocracy of +hard-hitters. If I remember rightly, he drew the first blood in the +conflict with one who afterward became one of the rulers of the +nation—the Honorable John Morrissey, member of Congress of the United +States and chief gambler at Saratoga.</p> + +<p>There is just now an attempt at the glorification of muscle. The man who +can row the swiftest, or strike a ball the farthest, or drop the +strongest wrestler is coming to be of more importance. Strong muscle is +a grand thing to have, but everything depends on how you use it. If +Heenan had become a Christian, he would have made a capital professor in +Polemic Theology. If the Harvard or Yale student shall come in from the +boat-race and apply his athletic strength to rowing the world out of the +breakers, we say "All hail!" to him. The more physical force a man has, +the better; but if Samson finds nothing more useful to do than carrying +of gate-posts, his strong muscle is only a nuisance.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249" />By all means let us culture physical energy. Let there be more +gymnasiums in our colleges and theological seminaries. Let the student +know how to wield oar and bat, and in good boyish wrestle see who is the +strongest. The health of mental and spiritual work often depends on +physical health. If I were not opposed to betting, I would lay a wager +that I can tell from the book column in any of the newspapers or +magazines of the land the condition of each critic's liver and spleen at +the time of his writing.</p> + +<p>A very prominent literary man apologized to me the other day for his +merciless attack on one of my books, saying that he felt miserable that +morning and must pitch into something; and my book being the first one +on the table, he pitched into that. Our health decides our style of +work. If this world is to be taken for God, we want more sanctified +muscle. The man who comes to his Christian work having had sound sleep +the night before, and the result of roast beef rare in his organism, can +do almost anything. Luther was not obliged to nurse his appetite with +any plantation bitters, but was ready for the coarsest diet, even the +"Diet of Worms."</p> + +<p>But while I advocate all sports, and exercises, and modes of life that +improve the physical organism, I have no respect for bone, and nerve, +and muscle in the abstract. Health is a fine harp, but I want to know +what tune you are going to play on it. I have not one daisy to put on +the grave of a dead pugilist or mere boat-racer, but all the garlands I +can twist for the tomb of the man who serves God, though he be as +physically weak as Richard Baxter, whose ailments were almost as many as +his books, and they numbered forty.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250" />At this last sentence the company at the table, forgetful of the +presence of Doctor Heavyasbricks, showed some disposition at good humor, +when the doctor's brows lifted in surprise, and he observed that he +thought a man with forty ailments was a painful spectacle, and ought to +be calculated to depress a tea-table rather than exhilarate it.</p> + +<p>"But, Governor Wiseman," said Quizzle, "do you not think that it is +possible to combine physical, mental and spiritual recreations?"</p> + +<p>Oh yes, replied the governor; I like this new mode of mingling religion +with summer pleasures. Soon the Methodists will be shaking out their +tents and packing their lunch-baskets and buying their railroad and +steamboat tickets for the camp-meeting grounds. Martha's Vineyard, Round +Lake, Ocean Grove and Sea Cliff will soon mingle psalms and prayers with +the voice of surf and forest. Rev. Doctor J.H. Vincent, the silver +trumpet of Sabbath-schoolism, is marshaling a meeting for the banks of +Chautauqua Lake which will probably be the grandest religious picnic +ever held since the five thousand sat down on the grass and had a +surplus of provision to take home to those who were too stupid to go. +From the arrangement being made for that meeting in August, I judge +there will be so much consecrated enthusiasm that there may be danger +that some morning, as the sun strikes gloriously through the ascending +mist of Chautauqua Lake, our friends may all go up in a chariot of fire, +leaving our Sunday-schools in a bereft condition. If they do go up in +that way, may their mantle or their straw hat fall this way!</p> + +<p>Why not have all our churches and denominations take a summer airing? +The breath of the pine woods or a wrestle with the waters would put an +end to everything like morbid religion.<a name="Page_251" id="Page_251" /> One reason why the apostles had +such healthy theology is that they went-a-fishing. We would like to see +the day when we will have Presbyterian camp-meetings, and Episcopalian +camp-meetings, and Baptist camp-meetings, and Congregational +camp-meetings, or, what would be still better, when, forgetful of all +minor distinctions, we could have a church universal camp-meeting. I +would like to help plant the tent-pole for such a convocation.</p> + +<p>Quizzle.—Do you not think, governor, that there are inexpensive modes +of recreation which are quite as good as those that absorb large means?</p> + +<p>Yes, said the governor; we need to cut the coat according to our cloth. +When I see that the Prince of Wales is three hundred thousand dollars in +debt, notwithstanding his enormous income, I am forcibly reminded that +it is not the amount of money a man gets that makes him well off, but +the margin between the income and the outgo. The young man who while he +makes a dollar spends a dollar and one cent is on the sure road either +to bankruptcy or the penitentiary.</p> + +<p>Next to the evil of living beyond one's means is that of spending all +one's income. There are multitudes who are sailing so near shore that a +slight wind in the wrong direction founders them. They get on well while +the times are usual and the wages promptly paid; but a panic or a short +period of sickness, and they drop helpless. Many a father has gone with +his family in a fine carriage drawn by a spanking team till he came up +to his grave; then he lay down, and his children have got out of the +carriage, and not only been compelled to walk, but to go barefoot. +Against parsimony and niggardliness I proclaim war; but with the same +sentence I condemn those who make a grand splash while they live, +leaving their families in destitution when they die.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252" />Quizzle.—Where, governor, do you expect to recreate this coming +summer?</p> + +<p>Wiseman.—Have not yet made up my mind. The question is coming up in all +our households as to the best mode of vacation. We shall all need rest. +The first thing to do is to measure the length of your purse; you cannot +make a short purse reach around Saratoga and the White Mountains. There +may be as much health, good cheer and recuperation in a country +farmhouse where the cows come up every night and yield milk without any +chalk in it.</p> + +<p>What the people of our cities need is quiet. What the people of the +country need is sightseeing. Let the mountains come to New York and New +York go to the mountains. The nearest I ever get to heaven in this world +is lying flat down on my back under a tree, looking up through the +branches, five miles off from a post-office or a telegraph station. But +this would be torture to others.</p> + +<p>Independent of what others do or say, let us in the selection of summer +recreations study our own temperament and finances. It does not pay to +spend so much money in July and August that you have to go pinched and +half mad the rest of the year. The healthiest recreations do not cost +much. In boyhood, with a string and a crooked pin attached to it, I +fished up more fun from the mill-pond than last summer with a +five-dollar apparatus I caught among the Franconia Mountains.</p> + +<p>There is a great area of enjoyment within the circumference of one +dollar if you only know how to make the circuit. More depends upon +ourselves than upon the affluence of our surroundings. If you are +compelled to stay home all summer, you may be as happy as though you +went away. The enjoyment of the first of July, when I go <a name="Page_253" id="Page_253" />off, is +surpassed by nothing but the first of September, when I come home.</p> + +<p>There being a slight pause in the conversation, Doctor Heavyasbricks +woke gradually up and began to move his lips and to show strong symptoms +of intention to ask for himself a question. He said: I have been +attending the anniversaries in New York, and find that they are about +dead. Wiseman, can you tell me what killed them?</p> + +<p>Governor Wiseman replied: It is a great pity that the anniversaries are +dead. They once lived a robust life, but began some fifteen years ago to +languish, and have finally expired. To the appropriate question, What +killed them? I answer, Peregrination was one of the causes. There never +has been any such place for the anniversaries as the Broadway +Tabernacle. It was large and social and central. When that place was +torn down, the anniversaries began their travels. Going some morning out +of the warm sunshine into some cathedral-looking place, they got the +chills, and under the dark stained glass everything looked blue. In the +afternoon they would enter some great square hall where everything was +formal.</p> + +<p>It is almost impossible to have a genial and successful meeting in a +square hall. When in former days the country pastor said to his +congregation, "Meet me at the New York anniversaries," they all knew +where to go; but after the old Broadway Tabernacle went down, the +aforesaid congregation might have looked in five or six places and not +found their minister. The New York anniversaries died on the street +between the old Tabernacle and St. Paul's Methodist Cathedral.</p> + +<p>Prolix reports also helped to kill the patient. Nothing which was not in +its nature immortal could have survived these. The secretary would read +till he got out of wind, and would then say that the remainder of the +report would be found <a name="Page_254" id="Page_254" />in the printed copies in the pews. The speakers +following had the burden of galvanizing an exhausted meeting, and the +Christian man who attended the anniversary on retiring that evening had +the nightmare in the shape of a portly secretary sitting astride his +chest reading from a huge scroll of documents.</p> + +<p>Diluted Christian oratory also helped to kill the anniversaries. The men +whom we heard in our boyhood on the Broadway platform believed in a +whole Bible, and felt that if the gospel did not save the world nothing +ever would; consequently, they spoke in blood-red earnestness and made +the place quake with their enthusiasm. There came afterward a weak-kneed +stock of ministers who thought that part of the Bible was true, if they +were not very much mistaken, and that, on the whole, religion was a good +thing for most people, certainly if they had weak constitutions, and +that man could be easily saved if we could get the phrenologist to fix +up his head, and the gymnasium to develop his muscle, and the minister +to coax him out of his indiscretions. Well, the anniversaries could not +live on pap and confectionery, and so they died for lack of strong meat.</p> + +<p>But the day of resurrection will come. Mark that! The tide of Bible +evangelism will come up again. We may be dead, but our children will see +it. New York will be thronged with men and women who will come up once a +year to count the sheaves of harvest, and in some great building +thronged from the platform to the vestibule an aroused Christian +audience will applaud the news, just received by telegraph, of a nation +born in a day, and sing with more power than when Thomas Hastings used +to act as precentor:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="poem">"The year of jubilee has come;</span> +<span class="poem">Return, ye ransom'd sinners, home."</span> +</div> + +<p><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255" />Quizzle.—You speak, governor, of the ruinous effect of prolixity in +religious service. How long ought a public service continue?</p> + +<p>Wiseman.—There is much discussion in the papers as to how long or short +sermons and prayers ought to be. Some say a discourse ought to last +thirty minutes, and others forty, and others an hour, and prayers should +be three minutes long, or five, or fifteen. You might as well discuss +how long a frock-coat ought to be, or how many ounces of food a man +ought to eat. In the one case, everything depends upon the man's size; +in the other, everything on the capacity of his stomach. A sermon or a +prayer ought to go on as long as it is of any profit. If it is doing no +good, the sermon is half an hour too long, though it take only thirty +minutes. If the audience cough, or fidget, or shuffle their feet, you +had better stop praying. There is no excuse, for a man's talking or +praying too long if he have good eyesight and hearing.</p> + +<p>But suppose a man have his sermon written and before him. You say he +must go through with it? Oh no. Let him skip a few leaves. Better +sacrifice three or four sheets of sermon-paper than sacrifice the +interest of your hearers. But it is a silly thing for a man in a +prayer-meeting or pulpit to stop merely because a certain number of +minutes have expired while the interest is deepening—absurd as a hunter +on the track of a roebuck, and within two minutes of bringing down its +antlers, stopping because his wife said that at six o'clock precisely he +must be home to supper. Keep on hunting till your ammunition gives out.</p> + +<p>Still, we must all admit that the danger is on the side of prolixity. +The most interesting prayers we ever hear are by new converts, who say +everything they have to say and break down in one minute. There are men +who, from the <a name="Page_256" id="Page_256" />way they begin their supplications, indicate a long +siege. They first pray you into a good frame, and then pray you out. +They take literally what Paul meant to be figurative: "Pray without +ceasing."</p> + +<p>Quizzle.—I see there was no lack of interest when the brewers' +convention met the other day in Boston, and that in their longest +session the attention did not flag.</p> + +<p>Wiseman.—Yes; I see that speeches were made on the beneficial use of +fermented liquors. The announcement was made that during the year +8,910,823 barrels of the precious stuff had been manufactured. I suppose +that while the convention was there Boston must have smelt like one +great ale-pitcher. The delegates were invited to visit the suburbs of +the city. Strange that nobody thought of inviting them to visit the +cemeteries and graveyards, especially the potter's field, where +thousands of their victims are buried. Perhaps you are in sympathy with +these brewers, and say that if people would take beer instead of alcohol +drunkenness would cease. But for the vast majority who drink, beer is +only introductory to something stronger. It is only one carriage in the +same funeral. Do not spell it b-e-e-r, but spell it b-i-e-r. May the +lightnings of heaven strike and consume all the breweries from river +Penobscot to the Golden Horn!</p> + +<p>Quizzle.—I see, governor, that you were last week in Washington. How do +things look there?</p> + +<p>Wiseman.—Very well. The general appearance of our national capital +never changes. It is always just as far from the Senate-chamber to the +White House; indeed, so far that many of our great men have never been +able to travel it. There are the usual number of petitioners for +governmental patronage hanging around the hotels and the congressional +lobbies. They are willing <a name="Page_257" id="Page_257" />to take almost anything they can get, from +minister to Spain to village postmaster. They come in with the same kind +of carpet-bags, look stupid and anxious for several days, and having +borrowed money enough from the member from their district to pay their +fare, take the cars for home, denouncing the administration and the +ungratefulness of republics.</p> + +<p>I think that the two houses of Congress are the best and most capable of +any almost ever assembled. Of course there is a dearth of great men. +Only here and there a Senator or Representative you ever before heard +of. Indeed, the nuisances of our national council in other days were the +great men who took, in making great speeches, the time that ought to +have been spent in attending to business. We all know that it was eight +or ten "honorable" bloats of the last thirty years who made our chief +international troubles.</p> + +<p>Our Congress is made up mostly of practical every-day men. They have no +speeches to make, and no past political reputation to nurse, and no +national fame to achieve. I like the new crop of statesmen better than +the old, although it is a shorter crop. They do not drink so much rum, +and not so large a proportion of them will die of delirium tremens. They +may not have such resounding names as some of their predecessors, but I +prefer a Congress of ordinary men to a group of Senators and +Representatives overawed and led about by five or six overgrown, +political Brobdingnagians.</p> + +<p>While in Washington we had a startling occurrence. A young man in high +society shot another young man, who fell dead instantly.</p> + +<p>I wonder that there is not more havoc with human life in this day, when +it is getting so popular to carry firearms. Most of our young men, and +many of our boys, do not feel them<a name="Page_258" id="Page_258" />selves in tune unless they have a +pistol accompaniment. Men are locked up or fined if found with daggers +or slung-shot upon their persons, but revolvers go free. There is not +half so much danger from knife as pistol. The former may let the victim +escape minus a good large slice, but the latter is apt to drop him dead. +On the frontiers, or engaged in police duty, firearms may be necessary; +but in the ordinary walk of life pistols are, to say the least, a +superfluity. Better empty your pockets of these dangerous weapons, and +see that your sons do not carry them. In all the ordinary walks of life +an honest countenance and orderly behavior are sufficient defence. You +had better stop going into society where you must always be ready to +shoot somebody.</p> + +<p>But do not think, my dear Fred, that I am opposed to everything because +I have this evening spoken against so many different things. I cannot +take the part of those who pride themselves in hurling a stout No +against everything.</p> + +<p>A friend called my attention to the fact that Sanballat wanted to hold +consultation with Nehemiah in the plain of O-no. That is the place where +more people stay, to-day, than in any other. They are always protesting, +throwing doubt on grand undertakings; and while you are in the mountain +of O-yes, they spend their time on the plain of O-no. In the harness of +society they are breeching-straps, good for nothing but to hold back.</p> + +<p>You propose to call a minister. All the indications are that he is the +right man. Nine-tenths of the congregation are united in his favor. The +matter is put to vote. The vast majority say "Ay!" the handful of +opponents responded "O no!"</p> + +<p>You propose to build a new church. About the site, the choice of +architect, the upholstery, the <a name="Page_259" id="Page_259" />plumbing and the day of dedication there +is almost a unanimity. You hope that the crooked sticks will all lie +still, and that the congregation will move in solid phalanx. But not so. +Sanballat sends for Nehemiah, proposing to meet him in the plain of +O-no.</p> + +<p>Some men were born backward, and have been going that way ever since. +Opposition to everything has become chronic. The only way they feel +comfortable is when harnessed with the face toward the whiffletree and +their back to the end of the shafts. They may set down their name in the +hotel register as living in Boston, Chicago, Savannah or Brooklyn, but +they really have been spending all their lives on the plain of O-no. +There let them be buried with their face toward the west, for in that +way they will lie more comfortably, as other people are buried with +their face to the east. Do not impose upon them by putting them in the +majority. O-no!</p> + +<p>We rejoice that there seems more liberality among good men, and that +they have made up their minds to let each one work in his own way. The +scalping-knives are being dulled.</p> + +<p>The cheerfulness and good humor which have this year characterized our +church courts is remarkable and in strong contrast with the old-time +ecclesiastical fights which shook synods and conferences. Religious +controversies always have been the most bitter of all controversies; and +when ministers do fight, they fight like vengeance. Once a church court +visiting a place would not only spend much of their own time in sharp +contention, but would leave the religious community to continue the +quarrel after adjournment. Now they have a time of good cheer while in +convention, and leave only one dispute behind them among the families, +and that arising from the fact that each one claims it had the best +<a name="Page_260" id="Page_260" />ministers and elders at their house. Contention is a child of the +darkness, peace the daughter of the light. The only help for a cow's +hollow horn is a gimlet-hole bored through it, and the best way to cure +religious combatants is to let more gospel light through their antlers.</p> + +<p>As we sat at the head of the table interested in all that was going on, +and saw Governor Wiseman with his honorable name, and Quizzle and +Heavyasbricks with their unattractive titles, we thought of the +affliction of an awkward or ill-omened name.</p> + +<p>When there are so many pleasant names by which children may be called, +what right has a parent to place on his child's head a disadvantage at +the start? Worse than the gauntlet of measles and whooping-cough and +mumps which the little ones have to run is this parental outrage.</p> + +<p>What a struggle in life that child will have who has been baptized +Jedekiah or Mehitabel! If a child is "called after" some one living, let +that one be past mid-life and of such temperament that there shall be no +danger of his becoming an absconder and a cheat. As far as possible let +the name given be short, so that in the course of a lifetime there be +not too many weeks or months taken up in the mere act of signature. The +burdens of life are heavy enough without putting upon any one the extra +weight of too much nomenclature. It is a sad thing when an infant has +two bachelor uncles, both rich and with outrageous names, for the baby +will have to take both titles, and that is enough to make a case of +infant mortality.</p> + +<p>Quizzle.—You seem to me, governor, to be more sprightly at every +interview.</p> + +<p>Well, that is so, but I do not know how long it will last; stout people +like myself often go the quickest.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261" />There is a constant sympathy expressed by robust people for those of +slight physical constitution. I think the sympathy ought to turn in the +opposite direction. It is the delicate people who escape the most +fearful disorders, and in three cases out of four live the longest. +These gigantic structures are almost always reckless of health. They +say, "Nothing hurts me," and so they stand in draughts, and go out into +the night air to cool off, and eat crabs at midnight, and doff their +flannels in April, and carelessly get their feet wet.</p> + +<p>But the delicate people are shy of peril. They know that disease has +been fishing for them for twenty years, and they keep away from the +hook. No trout can be caught if he sees the shadow of the sportsman on +the brook. These people whom everybody expects to die, live on most +tenaciously.</p> + +<p>I know of a young lady who evidently married a very wealthy man of +eighty-five years on the ground he was very delicate, and with reference +to her one-third. But the aged invalid is so careful of his health, and +the young wife so reckless of hers, that it is now uncertain whether she +will inherit his store-houses or he inherit her wedding-rings.</p> + +<p>Health and longevity depend more upon caution and intelligent management +of one's self than upon original physical outfit. Paul's advice to the +sheriff is appropriate to people in all occupations: "Do thyself no +harm!"</p> + +<p>Besides that, said the governor, I have moved and settled in very +comfortable quarters since I was at this table before. The house I have +moved in is not a better house, but somehow I feel more contented.</p> + +<p>Most of our households are quieted after the great annual upsetting. The +last carpet is tacked down. The strings that were scattered along the +<a name="Page_262" id="Page_262" />floor have been rolled up in a ball. We begin to know the turns in the +stairway. Things are settling down, and we shall soon feel at home in +our new residence. If it is a better house than we had, do not let us be +too proud of the door-plate, nor worship too ardently the fine cornice, +nor have any idea that superb surroundings are going to make us any +happier than we were in the old house.</p> + +<p>Set not your affections on luxurious upholstery and spacious +drawing-room. Be grateful and be humble.</p> + +<p>If the house is not as large nor in as good neighborhood as the one you +formerly occupied, make the best of it. It is astonishing what a good +time you may have in a small room. Your present neighbors are just as +kind as those you left, if you only knew them. Do not go around your +house sticking up your nose at the small pantry, and the ugly +mantel-pieces, and the low ceiling. It is a better place than your +divine Master occupied, and to say the least you are no better than He. +If you are a Christian, you are on your way to a King's mansion, and you +are now only stopping a little in the porter's lodge at the gate. Go +down in the dark lanes of the city and see how much poorer off many of +your fellow-citizens are. If the heart be right, the home will be right.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LVI" id="CHAPTER_LVI" /><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263" />CHAPTER LVI.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">FRIDAY EVENING.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Our friend Churchill was a great man for religious meetings. As he +shoved back from our tea-table he said, "I must be off to church."</p> + +<p>Then he yawned as though he expected to have a dull time, and asked me +why it was that religious meetings were often so very insipid and that +many people went to them merely as a matter of duty. Without waiting for +me to give my opinion, he said he thought that there was a sombre hue +given to such meetings that was killing and in a sort of soliloquy +continued:</p> + +<p>There is one thing Satan does well. He is good at stating the +discouraging side. He knows how to fish for obstacles, and every time +brings up his net full. Do not let us help him in his work. If you have +anything to say in prayer-meeting that is disheartening, may you forget +your speech! Tell us something on the bright side.</p> + +<p>I know a Christian man who did something outrageously wrong. Some one +said to me: "Why do you not expose him?" I replied: "That is the devil's +work and it will be thoroughly done. If there is anything good about +him, we would rather speak of that."</p> + +<p>Give us no sermons or newspaper articles that are depressing. We know +all that before you start; amid the greatest disheartenments there are +hopeful things that may be said. While the Mediterranean corn-ship was +going to smash, Paul told the crew to "Be of good cheer." We like apple +trees because, though they are not handsome, they have bright blossoms +and good fruit, but we <a name="Page_264" id="Page_264" />despise weeping willows because they never do +anything but cry.</p> + +<p>On a dark day do not go around closing the window-shutters. The world is +dark enough without your making it more so. Is there anybody in the room +who has a match? Please then strike it. There is only one kind of +champagne that we temperance folks can take, and that is encouraging +remark. It is a stimulus, and what makes it better than all other kinds +of champagne is it leaves no headache.</p> + +<p>I said to him, I think religious meetings have been improved in the last +few years. One of the grandest results of the Fulton street +prayer-meeting is the fact that all the devotional services of the +country have been revolutionized. The tap of the bell of that historical +prayer-meeting has shortened the prayers and exhortations of the church +universal.</p> + +<p>But since it has become the custom to throw open the meetings for remark +and exhortation, there has been a jubilee among the religious bores who +wander around pestering the churches. We have two or three outsiders who +come about once in six weeks into our prayer-meeting; and if they can +get a chance to speak, they damage all the interest. They talk long and +loud in proportion as they have nothing to say. They empty on us several +bushels of "ohs" and "ahs." But they seldom get a chance, for we never +throw the meeting open when we see they are there. We make such a close +hedge of hymns and prayers that they cannot break into the garden.</p> + +<p>One of them we are free of because, one night, seeing him wiggle-waggle +in his seat as if about to rise, we sent an elder to him to say that his +remarks were not acceptable. The elder blushed and halted a little when +we gave him the mission, but setting his teeth together he started for +the <a name="Page_265" id="Page_265" />offensive brother, leaned over the back of the pew and discharged +the duty. We have never seen that brother since, but once in the street, +and then he was looking the other way.</p> + +<p>By what right such men go about in ecclesiastical vagabondism to spoil +the peace of devotional meetings it is impossible to tell. Either that +nuisance must be abated or we must cease to "throw open" our +prayer-meetings for exhortation.</p> + +<p>A few words about the uses of a week-night service. Many Christians do +not appreciate it; indeed, it is a great waste of time, unless there be +some positive advantage gained.</p> + +<p>The French nation at one time tried having a Sabbath only once in ten +days. The intelligent Christian finds he needs a Sabbath every three or +four days, and so builds a brief one on the shore of a week-day in the +shape of an extra religious service. He gets grace on Sabbath to bridge +the chasm of worldliness between that and the next Sabbath, but finds +the arch of the bridge very great, and so runs up a pier midway to help +sustain the pressure.</p> + +<p>There are one hundred and sixty-eight hours in a week, and but two hours +of public religious service on Sabbath. What chance have two hours in a +battle with one hundred and sixty-eight?</p> + +<p>A week-night meeting allows church membership utterance. A minister +cannot know how to preach unless in a conference meeting he finds the +religious state of the people. He must feel the pulse before giving the +medicine, otherwise he will not know whether it ought to be an anodyne +or a stimulant. Every Christian ought to have something to say. Every +man is a walking eternity. The plainest man has Omnipotence to defend +him, Omniscience to watch him, infinite Goodness to provide for him. The +tamest religious experience has in it poems, tragedies, his<a name="Page_266" id="Page_266" />tories, +Iliads, Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained. Ought not such a one have +something to say?</p> + +<p>If you were ever in the army you know what it is to see an officer on +horseback dash swiftly past carrying a dispatch. You wondered as he went +what the news was. Was the army to advance, or was an enemy coming?</p> + +<p>So every Christian carries a dispatch from God to the world. Let him +ride swiftly to deliver it. The army is to advance and the enemy is +coming. Go out and fulfill your mission. You may have had a letter +committed to your care, and after some days you find it in one of your +pockets, you forgot to deliver it. Great was your chagrin when you found +that it pertained to some sickness or trouble. God gives every man a +letter of warning or invitation to carry, and what will be your chagrin +in the judgment to find that you nave forgotten it!</p> + +<p>A week-night meeting widens the pulpit till all the people can stand on +it. Such a service tests one's piety. No credit for going to church on +Sabbath. Places of amusement are all closed, and there is no money to be +made. But week-nights every kind of temptation and opportunity spreads +before a man, and if he goes to the praying circle he must give up these +things. The man who goes to the weekly service regularly through +moonlight and pitch darkness, through good walking and slush ankle-deep, +will in the book of judgment find it set down to his credit. He will +have a better seat in heaven than the man who went only when the walking +was good, and the weather comfortable, and the services attractive, and +his health perfect. That service which costs nothing God accounts as +nothing.</p> + +<p>A week-night service thrusts religion in the secularities of the week. +It is as much as to say, "This is God's Wednesday, or God's Thursday, +<a name="Page_267" id="Page_267" />or God's Friday, or God's week." You would not give much for a property +the possession of which you could have only one-seventh of the time, and +God does not want that man whose services he can have only on Sabbath. +If you paid full wages to a man and found out that six-sevenths of the +time he was serving a rival house, you would be indignant; and the man +who takes God's goodness and gives six-sevenths of his time to the +world, the flesh and the devil is an abomination to the Lord. The whole +week ought to be a temple of seven rooms dedicated to God. You may, if +you will, make one room the holy of holies, but let all the temple be +consecrate.</p> + +<p>The week-night service gives additional opportunity of religious +culture, and we find it so difficult to do right and be right that we +cannot afford to miss any opportunity. Such a service is a lunch between +the Sabbath meals, and if we do not take it we get weak and faint. A +truth coming to us then ought to be especially effective.</p> + +<p>If you are on a railroad train, and stop at the depot, and a boy comes +in with a telegram, all the passengers lean forward and wonder if it is +for them. It may be news from home. It must be urgent or it would not be +brought there. Now, if while we are rushing on in the whirl of every-day +excitement, a message of God meets us, it must be an urgent and +important message. If God speaks to us in a meeting mid-week, it is +because there is something that needs to be said before next Sunday.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SABBATH_EVENING" id="SABBATH_EVENING" />SABBATH EVENING TEA-TABLE.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271" />CHAPTER LVII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">THE SABBATH EVENING TEA-TABLE.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>When this evening comes we do not have any less on our table because it +is a sacred day, but a little more. On other evenings we have in our +dining-hall three of the gas-burners lighted, but on Sabbath evening we +have four. We try to have the conversation cheerfully religious.</p> + +<p>After the children are sleepy we do not keep them up to recite the +"Larger Catechism." During summer vacation, when we have no evening +service to attend at church, we sometimes have a few chapters of a +Christian book read or a column of a Christian newspaper, or if any one +has an essay on any religious theme, we hear that.</p> + +<p>We tarry long after the tea has got cold. We do not care if the things +are not cleared off till next morning. If any one has a perplexing +passage of Scripture to explain, we gather all the lights possible on +that subject. We send up stairs for concordance and Bible dictionary. It +may be ten o'clock at night before the group is dispersed from the +Sabbath evening tea-table.</p> + +<p>Some of the chapters following may be considered as conversations +condensed or as paragraphs read. You will sometimes ascribe them to the +host, at other times to the hostess, at other times to the strangers +within the gates.</p> + +<p>Old Dominie Scattergood often came in on Sabbath evenings. He was too +old to preach, and so had much leisure. Now, an old minister is a great +joy to us, especially if life has put sugar rather than vinegar in his +disposition. Dominie Scattergood had in his face and temper the smiles +of all <a name="Page_272" id="Page_272" />the weddings he had ever solemnized, and in his hand-shaking all +the hearty congratulations that had ever been offered him.</p> + +<p>His hair was as white as any snow-bank through which he had waded to +meet his appointments. He sympathized with every one, could swing from +mood to mood very easily, and found the bridge between laughter and +tears a short one and soon crossed. He was like an orchard in October +after some of the frosts, the fruit so ripe and mellow that the least +breeze would fill the laps of the children. He ate scarcely anything at +the tea-table, for you do not want to put much fuel in an engine when it +has nearly reached the depot. Old Dominie Scattergood gave his entire +time to religious discourse when he sat with us at the close of the +Lord's day.</p> + +<p>How calm and bright and restful the light that falls on the Sabbath +evening tea-table! Blessed be its memories for ever and ever! and +Jessie, and De Witt, and May, and Edith, and Frank, and the baby, and +all the visitors, old and young, thick-haired and bald-headed, say Amen!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LVIII" id="CHAPTER_LVIII" /><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273" />CHAPTER LVIII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">THE WARM HEART OF CHRIST.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>The first night that old Dominie Scattergood sat at our tea-table, we +asked him whether he could make his religion work in the insignificant +affairs of life, or whether he was accustomed to apply his religion on a +larger scale. The Dominie turned upon us like a day-dawn, and addressed +us as follows:</p> + +<p>There is no warmer Bible phrase than this: "Touched with the feeling of +our infirmities." The Divine nature is so vast, and the human so small, +that we are apt to think that they do not touch each other at any point. +We might have ever so many mishaps, the government at Washington would +not hear of them, and there are multitudes in Britain whose troubles +Victoria never knows; but there is a throne against which strike our +most insignificant perplexities. What touches us, touches Christ. What +annoys us, annoys Christ. What robs us, robs Christ. He is the great +nerve-centre to which thrill all sensations which touch us who are his +members.</p> + +<p>He is touched with our physical infirmities. I do not mean that he +merely sympathizes with a patient in collapse of cholera, or in the +delirium of a yellow fever, or in the anguish of a broken back, or in +all those annoyances that come from a disordered nervous condition. In +our excited American life sound nerves are a rarity. Human sympathy in +the case I mention amounts to nothing. Your friends laugh at you and say +you have "the blues," or "the high strikes," or "the dumps," or "the +fidgets." But Christ never <a name="Page_274" id="Page_274" />laughs at the whims, the notions, the +conceits, the weaknesses, of the nervously disordered. Christ probably +suffered in something like this way, for He had lack of sleep, lack of +rest, lack of right food, lack of shelter, and His temperament was +finely strung.</p> + +<p>Chronic complaints, the rheumatism, the neuralgia, the dyspepsia, after +a while cease to excite human sympathy, but with Christ they never +become an old story. He is as sympathetic as when you felt the first +twinge of inflamed muscle or the first pang of indigestion. When you +cannot sleep, Christ keeps awake with you. All the pains you ever had in +your head are not equal to the pains Christ had in His head. All the +acute suffering you ever had in your feet is not equal to the acute +suffering Christ had in His feet. By His own hand He fashioned your +every bone, strung every nerve, grew every eyelash, set every tooth in +its socket, and your every physical disorder is patent to Him, and +touches His sympathies.</p> + +<p>He is also touched with the infirmities of our prayers. Nothing bothers +the Christian more than the imperfections of his prayers. His getting +down on his knees seems to be the signal for his thoughts to fly every +whither. While praying about one thing he is thinking about another. +Could you ever keep your mind ten minutes on one supplication? I never +could. While you are praying, your store comes in, your kitchen comes +in, your losses and gains come in. The minister spreads his hands for +prayer, and you put your head on the back of the pew in front, and +travel round the world in five minutes.</p> + +<p>A brother rises in prayer-meeting to lead in supplication. After he has +begun, the door slams, and you peep through your fingers to see who is +coming in. You say to yourself, "What a finely <a name="Page_275" id="Page_275" />expressed prayer, or +what a blundering specimen! But how long he keeps on! Wish he would +stop! He prays for the world's conversion. I wonder how much he gives +toward it? There! I don't think I turned the gas down in the parlor! +Wonder if Bridget has got home yet? Wonder if they have thought to take +that cake out of the oven? Oh what a fool I was to put my name on the +back of that note! Ought to have sold those goods for cash and not on +credit!" And so you go on tumbling over one thing after another until +the gentleman closes his prayer with Amen! and you lift up your head, +saying, "There! I haven't prayed one bit. I am not a Christian!" Yes, +you are, if you have resisted the tendency. Christ knows how much you +have resisted, and how thoroughly we are disordered of sin, and He will +pick out the one earnest petition from the rubbish and answer it. To the +very depth of His nature He sympathizes with the infirmity of our +prayers.</p> + +<p>He is touched with the infirmity of our temper.</p> + +<p>There are some who, notwithstanding all that is said or done to them can +smile back. But many of you are so constructed that if a man insults +you, you either knock him down or wish you could. While with all +resolution and prayer you resist this, remember that Christ knows how +much you have been lied about, and misrepresented, and trod on. He knows +that though you said something that was hot, you kept back something +that was ten times hotter. He takes into account your explosive +temperament. He knows that it requires more skill to drive a fiery span +than a tame roadster. He knows how hard you have put down the "brakes" +and is touched with the feeling of your infirmity.</p> + +<p>Christ also sympathizes with our poor efforts at doing good.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276" />Our work does not seem to amount to much. We teach a class, or +distribute a bundle of tracts, or preach a sermon, and we say, "Oh, if I +had done it some other way!" Christ will make no record of our bungling +way, if we did the best we could. He will make record of our intention +and the earnestness of our attempt. We cannot get the attention of our +class, or we break down in our exhortation, or our sermon falls dead, +and we go home disgusted, and sorry we tried to speak, and feel Christ +is afar off. Why, He is nearer than if we had succeeded, for He knows +that we need sympathy, and is touched with our infirmity.</p> + +<p>It is comforting to know that it is not the learned and the great and +the eloquent that Christ seems to stand closest by. The "Swamp-angel" +was a big gun, and made a stunning noise, but it burst before it +accomplished anything, while many an humble rifle helped decide the +contest. Christ made salve out of spittle to cure a blind man, and the +humblest instrumentality may, under God, cure the blindness of the soul. +Blessed be God for the comfort of His gospel!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LIX" id="CHAPTER_LIX" /><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277" />CHAPTER LIX.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">SACRIFICING EVERYTHING.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Ourselves.—Dominie Scattergood, why did Christ tell the man inquiring +about his soul to sell all he had and give everything to the poor? Is it +necessary for one to impoverish himself in order to be a Christian?</p> + +<p>The Dominie.—You mistake the purport of Christ's remark. He was not +here teaching the importance of benevolence, but the duty of +self-conquest. That young man had an all absorbing love of wealth. Money +was his god, and Christ is not willing to occupy the throne conjointly +with any other deity. This was a case for what the doctors call heroic +treatment. If a physician meet a case of unimportant sickness, he +prescribes a mild curative, but sometimes he comes to a room where the +case is almost desperate; ordinary medicine would not touch it. It is +"kill or cure," and he treats accordingly. This young man that Christ +was medicating was such a case. There did not seem much prospect, and He +gives him this powerful dose, "Sell all that thou hast and give to the +poor!"</p> + +<p>It does not follow that we must all do the same, any more than because +belladonna or arsenic is administered in one case of illness we should +therefore all go to taking belladonna or arsenic. Because one man in the +hospital must have his arm amputated all the patients need not expect +amputation. The silliest thing that business-men could do would be to +give all their property away and turn their families into the street. +The most Christian thing for you to do is to invest your <a name="Page_278" id="Page_278" />money in the +best way possible, and out of your business, industriously carried on, +to contribute the largest possible percentage to the kingdom of God.</p> + +<p>Still, we must admire the manner in which the Great Physician took the +diagnosis of this man's case and grappled it. We all need heroic +spiritual treatment. We do not get well of sin because we do not realize +what a dire disease it is, and that we cannot cure it with a spiritual +panacea, a gentle antidote, a few grains of spiritual morphine, a mild +moral corrective or a few drops of peppermint on white sugar.</p> + +<p>We want our pride killed, and we read an essay on that sweet grace of +humility, and we go on as proud as ever. The pleasant lozenge does not +do the work. Rather let us set ourselves to do that for Christ which is +most oppugnant to our natural feelings. You do not take part in +prayer-meeting because you cannot pray like Edward Payson, or exhort +like John Summerfield. If you want to crush your pride, get up anyhow, +though your knees knock together, and your tongue catches fast, and you +see some godless hearer in prayer-meeting laughing as though she would +burst.</p> + +<p>Deal with your avarice in the same heroic style. Having heard the +charitable cause presented, at the first right impulse thrust your hand +in your pocket where the money is, and pull it out though it half kills +you. Pull till it comes. Put it on the plate with an emphasis, and turn +your face away before you are tempted to take it back again. All your +sweet contemplation about benevolence will not touch your case. Heroic +treatment or nothing!</p> + +<p>In the same way destroy the vindictiveness of your nature. Treatises on +Christian brotherhood are not what you need. Select the man most +disagreeable to you, and the one who has said the <a name="Page_279" id="Page_279" />hardest things about +you. Go up and shake hands with him, and ask him how his family is, and +how his soul prospers. All your enmities will fly like a flock of quails +at the bang of a rifle.</p> + +<p>We treat our sins too politely. We ought to call them by their right +names. Hatred to our neighbor should not be called hard thoughts, but +murder: "whoso hateth his brother is a murderer!" Sin is abominable. It +has tusks and claws, and venom in its bite, and death in its stroke. +Mild treatment will not do. It is loathsome, filthy and disgusting. If +we bid a dog in gentle words to go out of the house, he will lie down +under the table. It wants a sharp voice and a determined manner to make +him clear out, and so sin is a vile cur that cannot be ejected by any +conservative policy. It must be kicked out!</p> + +<p>Alas for the young man of the text! He refused Christ's word and went +away to die, and there are now those who cannot submit to Christ's +command, and after fooling their time away with moral elixirs suddenly +relapse and perish. They might have been cured, but would not take the +medicine.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LX" id="CHAPTER_LX" /><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280" />CHAPTER LX.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">THE YOUNGSTERS HAVE LEFT.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>The children after quitting the tea-table were too noisy for Sabbath +night, and some things were said at the table critical of their +behavior, when old Dominie Scattergood dawned upon the subject and said:</p> + +<p>We expect too much of our children when they become Christians. Do not +let us measure their qualifications by our own bushel. We ought not to +look for a gravity and deep appreciation of eternal things such as we +find in grown persons. We have seen old sheep in the pasture-field look +anxious and troubled because the lambs would frisk.</p> + +<p>No doubt the children that were lifted by their mothers in Christ's +arms, and got His blessing, five minutes after He set them down were as +full of romp as before they came to Him. The boy that because he has +become a Christian is disgusted with ball-playing, the little girl who +because she has given her heart to God has lost her interest in her +waxen-doll, are morbid and unhealthy. You ought not to set the life of a +vivacious child to the tune of Old Hundred.</p> + +<p>When the little ones come before you and apply for church membership, do +not puzzle them with big words, and expect large "experiences." It is +now in the church as when the disciples of old told the mothers not to +bother Christ with their babes. As in some households the grown people +eat first, and the children have to wait till the second table, so there +are persons who talk as though God would have the grown people first sit +<a name="Page_281" id="Page_281" />down at His banquet; and if there is anything over the little ones may +come in for a share.</p> + +<p>No, no! If the supply at the Lord's table were limited, He would let the +children come in first and the older ones go without, as a punishment +for not having come in while they themselves were children. If the wind +is from the northeast, and the air is full of frost and snow, and part +of the flock must be left out on the mountains, let it be the old sheep, +for they can stand it better than the lambs. O Shepherd of Israel, crowd +them all in before the coming of the tempest!</p> + +<p>Myself.—Dominie Scattergood, what do yow think of this discussion in +the papers on the subject of liturgies?</p> + +<p>Scattergood.—I know there has been much talk of late about liturgies in +the churches, and whether or not audiences should take audible part in +religious service. While others are discussing that point, let me say +that all the service of the Church ought to be responsive if not with +audible "Amen," and unanimous "Good Lord, deliver us," then with hearty +outburst of soul.</p> + +<p>Let not the prayer of him that conducts public service go up solitary +and alone, but accompanied by the heartfelt ejaculation of all the +auditory. We sit down on a soft cushion, in a pew by architectural skill +arranged to fit the shape of our back, and are tempted to fall into +unprofitable reveries. Let the effort be on the part of every minister +to make the prayer and the Scripture-reading and the giving out of the +hymn so emphatic that the audience cannot help but respond with all the +soul.</p> + +<p>Let the minister, before going into the pulpit, look over the whole +field and recall what are the styles of bereavement in the +congregation—whether they be widowhood, orphanage or child<a name="Page_282" id="Page_282" />lessness; +what are the kinds of temporal loss his people may recently have +suffered—whether in health, in reputation or estate; and then get both +his shoulders under these troubles, and in his prayer give one earnest +and tremendous lift, and there will be no dullness, no indifference, no +lack of multitudinous response.</p> + +<p>The reason that congregations have their heads bobbing about in +prayer-time is because the officiating clergyman is apt to petition in +the abstract. He who calls the troubles of his people by their right +names, and tenderly lays hold of the cancers of the souls before him, +will not lack in getting immediate heartfelt, if not audible, response.</p> + +<p>While we have not as much interest in the agitated question of liturgies +as would make us say ten words about it, we are interested more than we +can tell in the question, How shall the officiating ministers, in all +the churches, give so much point, and adaptedness, and vigor and +blood-red earnestness of soul to their public devotions as shall make +all the people in church feel that it is the struggle for their immortal +life in which the pastor is engaged? Whether it be in tones that strike +the ear, or with a spiritual emphasis heard only in the silent corridor +of the heart, let all the people say Amen!</p> + +<p>Myself.—What do you think, Dominie, about all this talk about +sensationalism in the pulpit?</p> + +<p>Scattergood.—As far as I can understand, it seems to be a war between +stagnation and sensationalism, and I dislike both.</p> + +<p>I do not know which word is the worst. It is the national habit in +literature and religion to call that sensationalism which we ourselves +cannot do. If an author write a book that will not sell, he is apt to +charge the books of the day which do succeed as being sensational. There +<a name="Page_283" id="Page_283" />are a great many men who, in the world and the Church, are dead +failures, who spend their time in letting the public know that they are +not sensationalists. The fact is that they never made any stir while +living, nor will they in dying, save as they rob the undertaker of his +fees, they not leaving enough to pay their dismission expenses.</p> + +<p>I hate sensationalism in the pulpit so far as that word means the +preaching of everything but the gospel, but the simple fact is that +whenever and wherever faith and repentance and heaven and hell are +proclaimed with emphasis there will be a sensation. The people in our +great cities are hungry for the old gospel of Christ. If our young men +in the ministry want large audiences, let them quit philosophizing, and +hair-splitting, and botanizing, and without gloves take hold of men's +sins and troubles, and there will be no lack of hearers. Stagnation is +worse than sensationalism.</p> + +<p>I have always noticed that just in proportion as a man cannot get along +himself he is fearful of some one else making an excitement. Last week a +mud-turtle down by the brook opened its shell and discoursed to a horse +that was coming down to drink. The mud-turtle said to the horse: "Just +as I get sound asleep you are sure to come past and wake me up. We +always used to have a good quiet time down here in the swamp till you +got in the habit of thumping along this way. I am conservative and like +to keep in my shell. I have been pastor of thirteen other mud-turtles, +and we always had peace until you came, and next week at our semi-annual +meeting of mud-turtles we shall either have you voted a nuisance or will +talk it over in private, eight, or ten of us, which will probably be the +more prudent way." Then the mud-turtle's shell went shut with a snap, at +which the horse kicked up his heels as he turned to go <a name="Page_284" id="Page_284" />up to the barn +to be harnessed to a load of corn that was ready for the market.</p> + +<p>Let us all wake up and go to work. There are in the private membership +of our churches and in the ministry a great many men who are dead, but +have never had the common decency to get buried. With the harvest white +and "lodging" for lack of a sickle, instead of lying under the trees +criticising the sweating reapers who are at work, let us throw off our +own coat and go out to see how good a swathe we can cut.</p> + +<p>Myself.—You seem, Dominie Scattergood, though you have been preaching a +great while, to be very healthy and to have a sound throat.</p> + +<p>Scattergood.—Yes; I don't know any reason why ministers should not be +as well as other persons. I have never had the ministers' sore throat, +but have avoided it by the observance of two or three rules which I +commend to you of less experience. The drug stores are full of troches, +lozenges and compounds for speakers and singers. All these medicines +have an important mission, but how much better would it be to avoid the +ills than to spend one's time in trying to cure them!</p> + +<p>1. Speak naturally. Let not incompetent elocutionists or the barbarisms +of custom give you tones or enunciations at war with those that God +implanted. Study the vocal instrument and then play the best tune on it +possible, but do not try to make a flute sound like a trumpet, or a +bagpipe do the work of a violin.</p> + +<p>2. Remember that the throat and lungs were no more intended to speak +with than the whole body. If the vocal organs get red hot during a +religious service, while the rest of the body does not sympathize with +them, there will be inflammation, irritation and decay. But if the man +shall, by appreciation of some great theme of time and eternity, go into +it with all his body and soul, <a name="Page_285" id="Page_285" />there will be an equalization of the +whole physical organism, and bronchitis will not know whether to attack +the speaker in his throat, right knee or left ankle, and while it is +deciding at what point to make assault the speaker will go scot-free. +The man who besieges an audience only with his throat attempts to take a +castle with one gun, but he who comes at them with head, eyes, hand, +heart, feet, unlimbers against it a whole park of artillery. Then +Sebastopol is sure to be taken.</p> + +<p>Myself.—I notice, Dominie, that your handwriting is not as good as your +health. Your letter in reply to my invitation to be here was so +indistinct that I could not tell whether it was an acceptance or a +declinature.</p> + +<p>Scattergood.—Well, I have not taken much care of my autograph. I know +that the attempt has been made to reduce handwriting to a science. Many +persons have been busy in gathering the signatures of celebrated men and +women. A Scotchman, by the name of Watson, has paid seventy-five +thousand dollars for rare autographs. Rev. Dr. Sprague, of Albany, has a +collection marvelous for interest.</p> + +<p>After we read an interesting book we want to see the author's face and +his autograph. But there is almost always a surprise or disappointment +felt when for the first time we come upon the handwriting of persons of +whom we have heard or read much. We often find that the bold, dashing +nature sometimes wields a trembling pen, and that some man eminent for +weakness has a defiant penmanship that looks as if he wrote with a +splinter of thunderbolt.</p> + +<p>I admit that there are instances in which the character of the man +decides the style of his penmanship. Lord Byron's autograph was as +reckless as its author. George Washington's signature was <a name="Page_286" id="Page_286" />a reflection +of his dignity. The handwriting of Samuel Rogers was as smooth as his +own nature. Robespierre's fierce-looking autograph seems to have been +written with the dagger of a French revolution.</p> + +<p>On the contrary, one's handwriting is often the antipodes of his +character. An unreasonable schoolmaster has often, by false instruction, +cramped or ruined the pupil's chirography for ever. If people only knew +how a brutal pedagogue in the academy used to pull my ears while +learning to write, I should not be so often censured for my own +miserable scribble. I defy any boy to learn successfully to make "hooks +and trammels" in his copy-book, or ever after learn to trace a graceful +calligraphy, if he had "old Talyor" bawling over him. I hope never to +meet that man this side of heaven, lest my memory of the long-ago past +be too much for the sense of ministerial propriety.</p> + +<p>There are great varieties of circumstances that influence and decide the +autograph. I have no faith in the science of chirography. I could, from +a pack of letters in one pigeon-hole, put to rout the whole theory. I +have come to the conclusion that he who judges of a man's character by +his penmanship makes a very poor guess. The boldest specimen of +chirography I ever received was from a man whose wife keeps him in +perpetual tremor, he surrendering every time she looks toward the +broomstick.</p> + +<p>Myself.—What do you think, Dominie, of the fact that laymen have begun +to preach? and what is your opinion of the work they are doing in +Scotland?</p> + +<p>For the first time in many a day the old Dominie grew sarcastic, and +said:</p> + +<p>What are we coming to? Get out your fire-engines. There is a +conflagration. What work<a name="Page_287" id="Page_287" /> Messrs. Moody, Sankey, Phillips, Bliss, +Jacobs, Burnell, Durant and fifty other laymen have done. Wherever they +go they have large concourses of people, and powerful revivals of +religion follow. Had we not better appoint a meeting of conference or +presbytery to overhaul these men who are saving souls without license? +No! What we want is ten thousand men just like them, coming up from +among the people, with no professional garb, and hearts hot with +religious fervor, and bound by no conventionalities or stereotyped +notions about the way things ought to be done.</p> + +<p>I have a sly suspicion that the layman who has for seven years given the +most of his time to the study of the truth is better prepared to preach +the gospel than a man who has given that length of time in theological +seminaries to the study of what other people say about the Bible. In +other words, we like water just dipped from the spring, though handed in +a gourd, rather than water that has been standing a week in a silver +pitcher.</p> + +<p>After Calvin has twisted us one way, and Arminius has twisted us +another, and we get our head full of the old Andover and New Haven +theological fights, and the difference between Ante-Nicene +Trinitarianism and Post-Nicene Trinitarianism, it is a luxury to meet +some evangelist who can tell us in our common mother-tongue of Him who +came to seek and to save that which was lost.</p> + +<p>I say let our learned institutions push theological education to its +highest excellency, preparing men for spheres which none but the +cultured and scholarly are fit for, but somehow let us beat the drum and +gather a battalion of lay-workers. We have enough wise men to tell us +about fishes, about birds, about rocks, about stars—enough Leyden jars, +enough telescopes, enough electric batteries; but we have not more than +one man <a name="Page_288" id="Page_288" />where we ought to have a hundred to tell the story of Christ +and the soul.</p> + +<p>Some cry out, "It is dangerous to have laymen take such prominent +positions in the Church." Dangerous to what? Our dignity, our +prerogatives, our clerical rights? It is the same old story. If we have +a mill on the stream, we do not want some one else to build a mill on +the same stream. It will take the water off our wheel. But, blessed be +God! the river of salvation is deep and strong enough to grind corn for +all nations.</p> + +<p>If a pulpit is so weak that the wave of religious zeal on the part of +the laity submerges it, then let it go under. We cannot expect all other +shipping to forsake the sea lest they run down our craft. We want more +watchmen on the wall, more sentinels at the gate, more recruits for the +field. Forward the whole Christian laity! Throw up no barrier to their +advancement. Do not hang the Church until dead by the neck with +"red-tape."</p> + +<p>I laughed outright, though I ought to have cried, when I read in one of +our papers a statement of the work of Moody and Sankey in Edinburgh, +which statement closed with the luscious remark that "Probably the Lord +is blessing their work." I never saw a word put in more awkward and +forced and pitiable predicament than that word probably. While heaven +and earth and hell have recognized the stupendous work now going on in +Scotland under God and through the instrumentality of these American +evangelists, a correspondent thinks that probably something has +happened.</p> + +<p>Oh how hard it is to acknowledge that men are doing good if they do not +work in our way and by our methods! One's heart must have got awfully +twisted and near being damned who can look on a great outpouring of the +Holy Ghost and have any use for probabilities. The tendency is <a name="Page_289" id="Page_289" />even +among Christians to depreciate that which goes on independent of +themselves and in a way oppugnant to their personal taste. People do not +like those who do a thing which they themselves have not been able to +accomplish.</p> + +<p>The first cry is, "The people converted are the lower population, and +not the educated." We wonder if five hundred souls brought to Christ +from the "Cowgate" and "Coalhole," and made kings and priests unto God, +and at last seated on thrones so high they will not be able to reach +down with their foot to the crown of an earthly monarch, is not worth +some consideration?</p> + +<p>Then the cry is, "They will not hold out." Time only will show that. +They are doing all they can. You cannot expect them to hold out ten +years in six weeks. The most faithful Christians we have ever known were +brought in through revivals, and the meanest, stingiest, dullest, +hardest-to-get-on-with Christians have joined when the church was dead.</p> + +<p>When a candidate for admission comes before session in revival times, I +ask him only seven or eight questions; but when he comes during a cold +state of religion, I ask him twenty questions, and get the elders to ask +him as many more. In other words, I have more faith in conversions under +special religious influence than under ordinary.</p> + +<p>The best luck I ever had in fishing was when I dropped the net in the +bay and brought up at one haul twenty bluefish, with only three or four +moss-bunkers, and the poorest luck I ever had was when, after standing +two hours in the soggy meadow with one hook on the line, I felt I had a +bite, and began to pull, more and more persuaded of the great size of +the captive, until I flung to the shore a snapping-turtle. As a gospel +fisherman I would rather run the risk of a large haul than <a name="Page_290" id="Page_290" />of a +solitary angling. I can soon sort out and throw overboard the few +moss-bunkers.</p> + +<p>Oh for great awakenings all over Christendom!</p> + +<p>We have had a drought so long we can stand a freshet. Let the Hudson and +the Thames and the Susquehanna rise and overflow the lowlands, and the +earth be full of the knowledge of God as the waters fill the seas. That +time is hastening, probably!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXI" id="CHAPTER_LXI" /><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291" />CHAPTER LXI.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">FAMILY PRAYERS.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Take first the statement that unless our children are saved in early +life they probably never will be. They who go over the twentieth year +without Christ are apt to go all the way without Him. Grace, like +flower-seed, needs to be sown in spring. The first fifteen years of +life, and often the first six, decide the eternal destiny.</p> + +<p>The first thing to do with a lamb is to put it in the arms of the Great +Shepherd. Of course we must observe natural laws. Give a child excessive +meat diet, and it will grow up sensual, and catechism three times a day, +and sixty grains in each dose, won't prevent it. Talk much in your +child's presence about the fashions, and it will be fond of dress, +notwithstanding all your lectures on humility. Fill your house with +gossip, and your children will tattle. Culture them as much as you will, +but give them plenty of money to spend, and they will go to destruction.</p> + +<p>But while we are to use common sense in every direction respecting a +child, the first thing is to strive for its conversion, and there is +nothing more potent than family prayers. No child ever gets over having +heard parents pray for him. I had many sound threshings when I was a boy +(not as many as I ought to have had, for I was the last child and my +parents let me off), but the most memorable scene in my childhood was +father and mother at morning and evening prayers. I cannot forget it, +for I used often to be squirming around on the floor and looking at them +while they were praying. Your son may go to the ends <a name="Page_292" id="Page_292" />of the earth, and +run through the whole catalogue of transgression, but he will remember +the family altar, and it will be a check, and a call, and perhaps his +redemption.</p> + +<p>Family prayers are often of no use. Perhaps they are too hurried. We +have so much before us of the day's work that we must hustle the +children together. We get half through the chapter before the family are +seated. We read as if we were reading for a wager. We drop on our knees, +are in the second or third sentence before they all get down. It is an +express train, with amen for the first depot. We rush for the hat and +overcoat, and are on the way to the store, leaving the impression that +family prayers are a necessary nuisance, and we had better not have had +any gathering of the family at all. Better have given them a kiss all +around; it would have taken less time and would have been more +acceptable to God and them.</p> + +<p>Family prayers often fail in adaptedness. Do not read for the morning +lesson a genealogical chapter, or about Samson setting the foxes' tails +on fire, or the prophecy about the horses, black and red, and speckled, +unless you explain why they were speckled. For all the good your +children get from such reading, you might as well have read a Chinese +almanac. Rather give the story of Jesus, and the children climbing into +his arms, or the lad with the loaves and fishes, or the Sea of Galilee +dropping to sleep under Christ's lullaby.</p> + +<p>Stop and ask questions. Make the exercise so interesting that little +Johnny will stop playing with his shoe-strings, and Jenny will quit +rubbing the cat's fur the wrong way. Let the prayer be pointed and made +up of small words, and no wise information to the Lord about things He +knows without your telling Him. Let the children <a name="Page_293" id="Page_293" />feel they are prayed +for. Have a hymn if any of you can sing. Let the season be spirited, +appropriate and gladly solemn.</p> + +<p>Family prayer also fails when the whole day is not in harmony with it. A +family prayer, to be worth anything, ought to be twenty-four hours long. +It ought to give the pitch to all the day's work and behavior. The day +when we get thoroughly mad upsets the morning devotion. The life must be +in the same key with the devotion.</p> + +<p>Family prayer is infinitely important. If you are a parent, and are not +a professor of religion, and do not feel able to compose a prayer, get +some one of the many books that have been written, put it down before +you, and read prayers for the household. God has said that He will "pour +out His fury upon the family that call not upon His name."</p> + +<p>Prayer for our children will be answered. My grandmother was a praying +woman. My father's name was David. One day, he and other members of the +family started for a gay party. Grandmother said: "Go, David, and enjoy +yourself; but all the time you and your brothers and sisters are there, +I will be praying for you." They went, but did not have a very good +time, knowing that their mother was praying for them.</p> + +<p>The next morning, grandmother heard loud weeping in the room below. She +went down and found her daughter crying violently. What was the matter? +She was in anxiety about her soul—an anxiety that found no relief short +of the cross. Word came that David was at the barn in great agony. +Grandmother went and found him on the barn floor, praying for the life +of his soul.</p> + +<p>The news spread to the neighboring houses, and other parents became +anxious about their children, and the influence spread to the village of +Somerville, and there was a great turning unto<a name="Page_294" id="Page_294" /> God; and over two +hundred souls, in one day, stood up in the village church to profess +faith in Christ. And it all started from my grandmother's prayer for her +sons and daughters. May God turn the hearts of the fathers to the +children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers, lest He come +and smite the earth with a curse!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXII" id="CHAPTER_LXII" /><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295" />CHAPTER LXII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">CALL TO SAILORS.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>One of the children asked us at the tea-table if we had ever preached at +sea. We answered, No! but we talked one Sabbath, mid-Atlantic, to the +officers, crew and passengers of the steamship "China." By the way, I +have it as it was taken down at the time and afterward appeared in a +newspaper, and here is the extract:</p> + +<p>No persons bound from New York to Liverpool ever had more cause for +thanksgiving to God than we. The sea so smooth, the ship so staunch, the +companionship so agreeable, all the circumstances so favorable. O Thou +who holdest the winds in Thy fist, blessed be Thy glorious name for +ever!</p> + +<p>Englishmen, Costa Ricans, Germans, Spaniards, Japanese, Irishmen, +Americans—gathered, never to meet again till the throne of judgment is +lifted—let us join hands to-day around the cross of Jesus and calculate +our prospect for eternity. A few moments ago we all had our sea-glasses +up watching the vessel that went by. "What is her name?" we all asked, +and "Whither is she bound?"</p> + +<p>We pass each other on the ocean of life to-day. We only catch a glimpse +of each other. The question is, "Whither are we bound? For harbor of +light or realm of darkness?" As we decide these questions, we decide +everything.</p> + +<p>No man gets to heaven by accident. If we arrive there, it will be +because we turn the helm, set the sail, watch the compass and stand on +the "lookout" with reference to that destination. There are many ways of +being lost—only one way <a name="Page_296" id="Page_296" />of being saved; Jesus Christ is the way. He +comes across the sea to-day, His feet on the glass of the wave, as on +Galilee, His arm as strong, His voice as soothing, His heart as warm. +Whosoever will may have His comfort, His pardon, His heaven.</p> + +<p>Officers and crew of this ship, have you not often felt the need of +divine help? In the hour of storm and shipwreck, far away from your +homes, have you not called for heavenly rescue? The God who then heard +thy prayer will hear thee now. Risk not your soul in the great future +without compass, or chart, or anchor, or helmsman. You will soon have +furled your last sail, and run up the last ratline, and weathered the +last gale, and made the last voyage. What next? Where then will be your +home, who your companions, what your occupation?</p> + +<p>Let us all thank God for this Sabbath which has come to us on the sea. +How beautifully it bridges the Atlantic! It hovers above every barque +and brig and steamer, it speaks of a Jesus risen, a grave conquered, a +heaven open. It is the same old Sabbath that blessed our early days. It +is tropical in its luxuriance, but all its leaves are prayers, and all +its blossoms praise. Sabbath on the sea! How solemn! How suggestive! Let +all its hours, on deck, in cabin, in forecastle, be sacred.</p> + +<p>Some of the old tunes that these sailors heard in boyhood times would +sound well to-day floating among the rigging. Try "Jesus, lover of my +soul," or "Come, ye sinners, poor and needy," or "There is a fountain +filled with blood." As soon as they try those old hymns, the memory of +loved ones would come back again, and the familiar group of their +childhood would gather, and father would be there, and mother who gave +them such good advice when they came to sea, and sisters and brothers +long since scattered and gone.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297" />Some of you have been pursued by benedictions for many years. I care +not how many knots an hour you may glide along, the prayers once offered +up for your welfare still keep up with you. I care not on what shore you +land, those benedictions stand there to greet you. They will capture you +yet for heaven. The prodigal after a while gets tired of the swine-herd +and starts for home, and the father comes out to greet him, and the old +homestead rings with clapping cymbals, and quick feet, and the clatter +of a banquet. If the God of thy childhood days should accost thee with +forgiving mercy, this ship would be a Bethel, and your hammock to-night +would be the foot of the ladder down which the angels of God's love +would come trooping.</p> + +<p>Now, may the blessing of God come down upon officers and crew and +passengers! Whatever our partings, our losses, our mistakes, our +disasters in life, let none of us miss heaven. On that shore may we land +amid the welcome of those who have gone before. They have long been +waiting our arrival, and are now ready to conduct us to the foot of the +throne. Look, all ye voyagers for eternity! Land ahead! Weeping may +endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.</p> + +<p>What Paul said to the crew and passengers on the corn-ship of the +Mediterranean is appropriate here: "Now I exhort you to be of good +cheer!" God fit us for the day when the archangel, with one foot on the +sea and the other on the land, shall swear by Him that liveth for ever +and ever that time shall be no longer!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXIII" id="CHAPTER_LXIII" /><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298" />CHAPTER LXIII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">JEHOSHAPHAT'S SHIPPING.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Your attention is called to a Bible incident that you may not have +noticed. Jehoshaphat was unfortunate with his shipping. He was about to +start another vessel. The wicked men of Ahaziah wanted to go aboard that +vessel as sailors. Jehoshaphat refused to allow them to go, for the +reason that he did not want his own men to mingle with those vicious +people.</p> + +<p>In other words, he knew what you and I know very well, that it is never +safe to go in the same boat with the wicked. But there are various +applications of that idea. We too often forget it, and are not as wise +as Jehoshaphat was when he refused to allow his men to be in +companionship in the same boat with the wicked men of Ahaziah.</p> + +<p>The principle I stated is appropriate to the formation, in the first +place, of all domestic alliances. I have often known women who married +men for the purpose of reforming them from dissipated habits. I never +knew one successful in the undertaking. Instead of the woman lifting the +man up, the man drags her down. This is inevitably the case. The +greatest risk that one ever undertakes is attempting the voyage of life +in a boat in which the wicked sail; this remark being most appropriate +to the young persons who are in my presence. It is never safe to sail +with the sons of Ahaziah. The aged men around me will bear out the +statement that I have made. There is no exception to it.</p> + +<p>The principle is just as true in regard to all business alliances. I +know it is often the case <a name="Page_299" id="Page_299" />that men have not the choice of their worldly +associations, but there are instances where they may make their choice, +and in that case I wish them to understand that it is never safe to go +in the same boat with the vicious. No man can afford to stand in +associations where Christ is maligned and scoffed at, or the things of +eternity caricatured. Instead of your Christianizing them, they will +heathenize you. While you propose to lift them up, they will drag you +down. It is a sad thing when a man is obliged to stand in a business +circle where men are deriding the religion of the Lord Jesus Christ. For +instance, rather than to be associated in business circles with +Frothinghamite infidelity, give me a first-class Mohammedan, or an +unconverted Chinese, or an unmixed Hottentot. There is no danger that +they will draw me down to their religion.</p> + +<p>If, therefore, you have a choice when you go out in the world as to +whether you will be associated in business circles with men who love +God, or those who are hostile to the Christian religion, you might +better sacrifice some of your financial interests and go among the +people of God than risk the interests of your immortal soul.</p> + +<p>Jehoshaphat knew it was unsafe for his men to go in one boat with the +men of Ahaziah, and you cannot afford to have business associations with +those who despise God, and heed not His commandments. I admit the fact +that a great many men are forced into associations they despise, and +there are business circles in which we are compelled to go which we do +not like, but if you have a choice, see that you make an intelligent and +safe one.</p> + +<p>This principle is just as true in regard to social connections. Let no +young man or woman go in a social circle where the influences are +vicious or hostile to the Christian religion. You will begin <a name="Page_300" id="Page_300" />by +reproving their faults, and end by copying them. Sin is contagious. You +go among those who are profane, and you will be profane. You go among +those who use impure language, and you will use impure language. Go +among those who are given to strong drink, and you will inevitably +become an inebriate. There is no exception to the rule. A man is no +better than the company he continually keeps.</p> + +<p>It is always best to keep ourselves under Christian influences. It is +not possible, if you mingle in associations that are positively +Christian, not to be made better men or women. The Christian people with +whom you associate may not be always talking their religion, but there +is something in the moral atmosphere that will be life to your soul. You +choose out for your most intimate associates eight or ten Christian +people. You mingle in that association; you take their counsel; you are +guided by their example, and you live a useful life, and die a happy +death, and go to a blessed eternity. There is no possibility of +mistaking it; there is not an exception in all the universe or ages—not +one.</p> + +<p>For this reason I wish that Christians engage in more religious +conversation. I do not really think that Christian talk is of so high a +type as it used to be. Some of you can look back to your very early days +and remember how the neighbors used to come in and talk by the hour +about Christ and heaven and their hopes of the eternal world. There has +a great deal of that gone out of fashion.</p> + +<p>I suppose that if ten or fifteen of us should happen to come into a +circle to spend the evening, we would talk about the late presidential +election, or the recent flurry in Wall street, and about five hundred +other things, and perhaps we would not talk any about Jesus Christ and +our hopes of heaven. That is not Christianity; that <a name="Page_301" id="Page_301" />is heathenism. +Indeed, I have sometimes been amazed to find Christian people actually +lacking in subjects of conversation, while the two persons knew each of +the other that he was a Christian.</p> + +<p>You take two Christian people of this modern day and place them in the +same room (I suppose the two men may have no worldly subjects in +common). What are they talking about? There being no worldly subject +common to them, they are in great stress for a subject, and after a long +pause Mr. A remarks: "It is a pleasant evening."</p> + +<p>Again there is a long pause. These two men, both redeemed by the blood +of the Lord Jesus Christ, heaven above them, hell beneath them, eternity +before them, the glorious history of the Church of Jesus Christ behind +them, certainly after a while they will converse on the subject of +religion. A few minutes have passed and Mr. B remarks: "Fine autumn we +are having."</p> + +<p>Again there is a profound quiet. Now, you suppose that their religious +feelings have really been dammed back for a little while; the men have +been postponing the things of God and eternity that they may approach +the subject with more deliberation, and you wonder what useful thing Mr. +B will say to Mr. A in conversation.</p> + +<p>It is the third time, and perhaps it is the last that these two +Christian men will ever meet until they come face to face before the +throne of God. They know it. The third attempt is now made. Mr. A says +to Mr. B: "Feels like snow!"</p> + +<p>My opinion is, it must have felt more like ice. Oh, how little real, +practical religious conversation there is in this day! I would to God +that we might get back to the old-time Christianity, when men and women +came into associations, and felt, "Here I must use all the influence I +can for Christ upon that soul, and get all the good I can.<a name="Page_302" id="Page_302" /> This may be +the last opportunity I shall have in this world of interviewing that +immortal spirit."</p> + +<p>But there are Christian associations where men and women do talk out +their religion; and my advice to you is to seek out all those things, +and remember that just in proportion as you seek such society will you +be elevated and blessed. After all, the gospel boat is the only safe +boat to sail in. The ships of Jehoshaphat went all to pieces at +Eziongeber.</p> + +<p>Come aboard this gospel craft, made in the dry-dock of heaven and +launched nineteen hundred years ago in Bethlehem amid the shouting of +the angels. Christ is the captain, and the children of God are the crew. +The cargo is made up of the hopes and joys of all the ransomed. It is a +ship bound heavenward, and all the batteries of God will boom a greeting +as we sail in and drop anchor in the still waters. Come aboard that +ship; it is a safe craft! The fare is cheap! It is a certain harbor!</p> + +<p>The men of Ahaziah were forbidden to come aboard the ships of +Jehoshaphat, but all the world is invited to board this gospel craft. +The vessel of Jehoshaphat went to pieces, but this craft shall drop +anchor within the harbor, and mountains shall depart, and hills shall be +removed, and seas shall dry up, and time itself shall perish, but the +mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear +Him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXIV" id="CHAPTER_LXIV" /><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303" />CHAPTER LXIV.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">ALL ABOUT MERCY.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Benedict XIII. decreed that when the German: Catholics met each other, +they should always give the following salutation, the one first speaking +saying, "Praised be Jesus Christ," the other responding, "For ever, +amen," a salutation fit for Protestants whenever they come together.</p> + +<p>The word "mercy" is used in the Bible two hundred and fourteen times; it +seems to be the favorite word of all the Scriptures. Sometimes it +glances feebly upon us like dew in the starlight; then with bolder hand +it seems to build an arched bridge from one storm-cloud of trouble to +another; and then again it trickles like a fountain upon the thirst of +the traveler.</p> + +<p>The finest roads I ever saw are in Switzerland. They are built by the +government, and at very short intervals you come across water pouring +out of the rocks. The government provides cups for men and troughs for +the animals to drink out of. And our King has so arranged it that on the +highway we are traveling toward heaven, ever and anon there shall dash +upon us the clear, sweet water that flows from the eternal Rock. I +propose to tell you some things about God's mercy.</p> + +<p>First, think of His pardoning mercy. The gospel finds us shipwrecked; +the wave beneath ready to swallow us, the storm above pelting us, our +good works foundered, there is no such thing as getting ashore unhelped. +The gospel finds us incarcerated; of all those who have been in thick +dungeon darkness, not one soul ever escaped by his own power. If a soul +is delivered at all, it is <a name="Page_304" id="Page_304" />because some one on the outside shall shove +the bolt and swing open the door, and let the prisoner come out free.</p> + +<p>The sin of the soul is not, as some would seem to think, just a little +dust on the knee or elbow that you can strike off in a moment and +without any especial damage to you. Sin has utterly discomfited us; it +has ransacked our entire nature; it has ruined us so completely that no +human power can ever reconstruct us; but through the darkness of our +prison gloom and through the storm there comes a voice from heaven, +saying, "I will abundantly pardon."</p> + +<p>Then think of His restraining mercy. I do not believe that it is +possible for any man to tell his capacity for crime until he has been +tested. There have been men who denounced all kinds of frauds, who +scorned all mean transactions, who would have had you believe that it +was impossible for them ever to be tempted to dishonesty, and yet they +may be owning to-day the chief part of the stock in the Credit Mobilier.</p> + +<p>There are men who once said they never could be tempted to intemperance. +They had no mercy on the drunkard. They despised any man who became a +victim of strong drink. Time passed on, and now they are the victims of +the bottle, so far gone in their dissipation that it is almost +impossible that they ever should be rescued.</p> + +<p>So there have been those who were very hard on all kinds of impurity, +and who scoffed at unchastity, and who said that it was impossible that +they should ever be led astray; but to-night they are in the house whose +gates are the gates of hell! It is a very dangerous thing for a man to +make a boast and say, "Such and such a sin I never could be tempted to +commit."</p> + +<p>There are ten thousand hands of mercy holding us up; there are ten +thousand hands of mercy <a name="Page_305" id="Page_305" />holding us back, or we would long ago have gone +over the precipice, and instead of sitting to-night in a Christian +sanctuary, amid the respected and the good, our song would have been +that of the drunkard, or we would be "hail fellows well met" with the +renegade and the profligate. Oh, the restraining mercy of God! Have you +never celebrated it? Have you never rejoiced in it?</p> + +<p>Think also of His guiding mercy. You have sometimes been on a journey, +and come to where there were three roads—one ahead of you, one to the +right and one to the left. It was a lonely place, and you had no one of +whom to ask advice. You took the left-hand road, thinking that was the +right one, but before night you found out your mistake, and yet your +horse was too exhausted and you were too tired to retrace your steps, +and the mistake you made was an irretrievable mistake.</p> + +<p>You come on in life, many a time, and find there are three or four or +fifty roads, and which one of the fifty to take you do not know. Let me +say that there are forty-nine chances out of fifty that you will take +the wrong one, unless God directs you, since it is a great deal easier +to do that which is wrong than that which is right, our nature being +corrupt and depraved.</p> + +<p>Blessed be God, we have a directory! As a man lost on the mountains +takes out his map and sees the right road marked down, and makes up his +mind what to do, so the Lord, in His gospel map, has said: "This is the +way, walk ye in it." Blessed be God for His guiding mercy!</p> + +<p>Think also of the comforting mercy of God. In the days when men lived +five or six or seven hundred years, I suppose that troubles and +misfortunes came to them at very great intervals. Life did not go so +fast. There were not so many vicissitudes; there was not so much +jostling. I suppose <a name="Page_306" id="Page_306" />that now a man in forty years will have as many +vexations and annoyances and hardships and trials and temptations as +those antediluvians had in four hundred years.</p> + +<p>No one escapes. If you are not wounded in this side, you must be wounded +in that. There are foes all around about you. There is no one who has +come up to this moment without having been cleft of misfortunes, without +having been disappointed and vexed and outraged and trampled on.</p> + +<p>The world comes and tries to solace us, but I think the most impotent +thing on earth is human comfort when there is no gospel mixed with it. +It is a sham and an insult to a wounded spirit—all the comfort that +this world can offer a man; but in his time of darkness and perplexity +and bereavement and persecution and affliction, Christ comes to him with +the solace of His Spirit, and He says: "Oh, thou tempted one, thou shalt +not be tempted above that thou art able." He tells the invalid, "There +is a land where the inhabitants never say, 'I am sick.'" He says to the +assaulted one, "You are no better than I am; they maltreated me, and the +servant ought not to expect to have it easier than his Lord."</p> + +<p>He comes to the bereaved one and says: "I am the resurrection and the +life; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live." +And if the trouble be intricate, if there be so many prongs to it, so +many horns to it, so many hoofs to it, that he cannot take any of the +other promises and comforts of God's word to his soul, he can take that +other promise made for a man in the last emergency and when everything +else fails: "All things work together for good to those that love God." +Oh, have you never sung of the comforting mercy of God?</p> + +<p>Think also of His enthroning mercy. Notwith<a name="Page_307" id="Page_307" />standing there are so many +comforts in Christ's gospel, I do not think that we could stand the +assault and rebuff of the world for ever. We all were so weary of the +last war. It seemed as if those four years were as long as any fifteen +or twenty years of our life. But how could we endure one hundred years, +or five hundred years, or a thousand years, of earthly assault? Methinks +the spirit would wear down under the constant chafing and the assault of +the world.</p> + +<p>Blessed be God, this story of grief and trouble and perplexity will come +to an end! There are twelve gates to heaven, and they are all gates of +mercy. There are paths coming into all those gates, and they are all +paths of mercy. There are bells that ring in the eternal towers, and +they are all chimes of mercy. There are mansions prepared for us in this +good land when we have done with the toils of earth, and all those +mansions are mansions of mercy. Can you not now strike upon your soul, +saying, "Bless the Lord, O my soul, for thy pardoning mercy, for thy +restraining mercy, for thy guiding mercy, for thy comforting mercy, for +thy enthroning mercy!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXV" id="CHAPTER_LXV" /><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308" />CHAPTER LXV.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">UNDER THE CAMEL'S SADDLE.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>Rachel had been affianced to Jacob, and one day while her father, Laban, +was away from home she eloped with Jacob. Laban returned home and +expressed great sorrow that he had not been there when his daughter went +away, saying that he would have allowed her to go, and that she might +have been accompanied with a harp and the dance and with many beautiful +presents.</p> + +<p>Laban started for Rachel and Jacob. He was very anxious to recover the +gods that had been stolen from his household. He supposed that Rachel +had taken them, as she really had. He came up in the course of a few +days to the party and demanded the gods that had been taken from his +house. Jacob knew nothing about the felony, but Rachel was secreting +these household gods.</p> + +<p>Laban came into the tent where she was, and asked for them. She sat upon +a saddle of a camel, the saddle having been laid down at the side of the +tent, and under this camel's saddle were the images. Rachel pretended to +be sick, and said she could not rise. Her father, Laban, supposed that +she told the truth, and looked everywhere but under the camel's saddle, +where really the lost images were. He failed in the search, and went +back home without them.</p> + +<p>It was a strange thing for Laban to do. He pretended to be a worshiper +of the true God. What did he want of those images? Ah, the fact was, +that though he worshiped God, he worshiped with only half a heart, and +he sometimes, I suppose, repented of the fact that he worshiped him at +all, <a name="Page_309" id="Page_309" />and really had a hankering after those old gods which in his +earliest days he had worshiped. And now we find him in Rachel's tent +looking for them.</p> + +<p>Do not let us, however, be too severely critical of Laban. He is only +the representative of thousands of Christian men and women, who, once +having espoused the worship of God, go back to their idols. When a man +professes faith in Christ on communion-day, with the sacramental cup in +his hand, he swears allegiance to the Lord God Almighty, and says, "Let +all my idols perish!" but how many of us have forsaken our fealty to +God, and have gone back to our old idols!</p> + +<p>There are many who sacrifice their soul's interests in the idolatry of +wealth. There was a time when you saw the folly of trying with, money to +satisfy the longing of your soul. You said, when you saw men going down +into the dust and tussle of life, "Whatever god I worship, it won't be a +golden calf." You saw men plunge into the life of a spendthrift, or go +down into the life of a miser, like one of old smothered to death in his +own money-chest, and you thought, "I shall be very careful never to be +caught in these traps in which so many men have fallen, to their souls' +eternal discomfiture."</p> + +<p>But you went down into the world; you felt-the force of temptation; you +saw men all around you making money very fast, some of them sacrificing +all their Christian principle; you felt the fascination come upon your +own soul, and before you knew it, you were with Laban going down to hunt +in Rachel's tent for your lost idols.</p> + +<p>On one of our pieces of money you find the head of a goddess, a poor +inscription for an American coin; far better the inscription that the +old Jews put upon the shekel, a pot of manna and an almond rod, alluding +to the mercy and <a name="Page_310" id="Page_310" />deliverance of God in their behalf in other days. But +how seldom it is that money is consecrated to Christ! Instead of the man +owning the money, the money owns the man. It is evident, especially to +those with whom they do business every day, that they have an idol, or +that, having once forsaken the idol, they are now in search of it, far +away from the house of God, in Rachel's tent looking for the lost +images.</p> + +<p>One of the mighty men of India said to his servants: "Go not near the +cave in such a ravine." The servants talked the matter over, and said: +"There must be gold there, or certainly this mighty man would not warn +us against going." They went, expecting to find a pile of gold; they +rolled away the stone from the door of the cave, when a tiger sprang out +upon them and devoured them.</p> + +<p>Many a man in the search of gold has been craunched in the jaws of +destruction. Going out far away from the God whom they originally +worshiped, they are seeking in the tent of Rachel, Laban's lost images.</p> + +<p>There are a great many Christians in this day renewing the idolatry of +human opinion. There was a time when they woke up to the folly of +listening to what men said to them. They soliloquized in this way: "I +have a God to worship, and I am responsible only to Him. I must go +straight on and do my whole duty, whether the world likes it or don't +like it;" and they turned a deaf ear to the fascinations of public +applause. After a while they did something very popular. They had the +popular ear and the popular heart. Men approved them, and poured gentle +words of flattery into their ear, and before they realized it they went +into the search of that which they had given up, and were, with Laban, +hunting in Rachel's tent for the lost images.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311" />Between eleven and twelve o'clock one June night, Gibbon, the great +historian, finished his history. Seated in a summer garden, he says that +as he wrote the last line of that wonderful work he felt great +satisfaction. He closed the manuscript, walked out into the moonlight in +the garden, and then, he said, he felt an indescribable melancholy come +upon his soul at the thought that so soon he must leave all the fame +that he would acquire by that manuscript.</p> + +<p>The applause of this world is a very mean god to worship. It is a Dagon +that falls upon its worshipers and crushes them to death. Alas for those +who, fascinated by human applause, give up the service of the Lord God +and go with Laban to hunt in Rachel's tent for the lost images!</p> + +<p>There are many Christians being sacrificed to appetite. There was a time +when they said: "I will not surrender to evil appetites." For a while +they seemed to break away from all the allurements by which they were +surrounded, but sometimes they felt that they were living upon a severe +regimen. They said: "After all, I will go back to my old bondage;" and +they fell away from the house of God, and fell away from respectability, +and fell away for ever.</p> + +<p>One of the kings in olden times, the legend says, consented that the +devil might kiss him on both shoulders, but no sooner were the kisses +imprinted upon the shoulders than serpents grew forth and began to +devour him, and as the king tried to tear off the serpents he found he +was tearing his own life out. And there are men who are all enfolded in +adders of evil appetite and passion that no human power can ever crush; +and unless the grace of God seizes hold of them, these adders will +become "the worm that never dies." Alas for those who, once having +broken away from the mastery of evil appetites and passion, go back to +<a name="Page_312" id="Page_312" />the sins that they once renounced, and, with Laban in Rachel's tent, go +to hunt for the lost images!</p> + +<p>There are a great many also sacrificed by indolence. In the hour of +their conversion they looked off upon the world, and said: "Oh how much +work to be done, how many harvests to be gathered, how many battles to +be fought, how many tears to be wiped away, and how many wounds to be +bound up!" and they looked with positive surprise upon those who could +sit idle in the kingdom of God while there was so much work to do. After +a while they found their efforts were unappreciated, that some of their +best work in behalf of Christ was caricatured and they were laughed at, +and they began to relax their effort, and the question was no more, +"What can I do for Christ?" but "How can I take my ease? where can I +find my rest?" Are there not some of you who in the hour of your +consecration started out nobly, bravely and enthusiastically for the +Saviour's kingdom who have fallen back into ease of body and ease of +soul, less anxious about the salvation of men than you once were, and +are actually this moment in Rachel's tent hunting up the lost images?</p> + +<p>Oh, why go down hunting for our old idols? We have found out they are +insufficient for the soul. Eyes have they, but they see not; ears have +they, but, they hear not; and hands have they, but they handle not. +There is only one God to worship, and He sits in the heavens.</p> + +<p>How do I know that there is only one God? I know it just as the boy knew +it when his teacher asked him how many Gods there are. He said, "There +is but one."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that?" inquired the teacher.</p> + +<p>The boy replied, "There is only room for one, for He fills the heavens +and the earth."</p> + +<p>Come into the worship of that God. He is a <a name="Page_313" id="Page_313" />wise God. He can plan out +all the affairs of your life. He can mark out all the steps that you +ought to take. He will put the sorrows in the right place, and the +victories in the right place, and the defeats in the right place; and +coming to the end of your life, if you have served Him faithfully, you +will be compelled to say, "Just and true are thy ways; thou art, O Lord, +always right."</p> + +<p>He is a mighty God. Have Him on your side, and you need not fear earth +or hell. He can ride down all your spiritual foes. He is mighty to +overthrow your enemies. He is mighty to save your soul. Ay, He is a +loving God. He will put the arms of His love around about your neck. He +will bring you close to His heart and shelter you from the storm. In +times of trouble He will put upon your soul the balm of precious +promises. He will lead you all through the vale of tears trustfully and +happily, and then at last take you to dwell in His presence, where there +is fullness of joy, and at His right hand, where there are pleasures for +evermore. Oh, compared with such a wise God, such a mighty God, such a +loving God, what are all the images under the camel's saddle in the tent +of Rachel?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXVI" id="CHAPTER_LXVI" /><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314" />CHAPTER LXVI.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">HALF-AND-HALF CHURCHES.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>There is a verse in Revelation that presents a nauseated Christ: +"Because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spew thee +out of my mouth."</p> + +<p>After we have been taking a long walk on a summer day, or been on a +hunting chase, a draught of cold water exhilarates. On the other hand, +after standing or walking in the cold air and being chilled, hot water, +mingled with some beverage, brings life and comfort to the whole body; +but tepid water, neither hot nor cold, is nauseating.</p> + +<p>Now, Christ says that a church of that temperature acts on him as an +emetic: I will spew thee out of my mouth.</p> + +<p>The church that is red hot with religious emotion, praying, singing, +working, Christ having taken full possession of the membership, must be +to God satisfactory.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, a frozen church may have its uses. The minister reads +elegant essays, and improves the session or the vestry in rhetorical +composition. The music is artistic and improves the ear of the people, +so that they can better appreciate concert and opera.</p> + +<p>The position of such a church is profitable to the book-binder who +furnishes the covers to the liturgy, and the dry-goods merchants who +supply the silks, and the clothiers who furnish the broadcloth. Such a +church is good for the business world, makes trade lively and increases +the demand for fineries of all sorts, for a luxurious religion demands +furs and coats, and gaiters to <a name="Page_315" id="Page_315" />match. Christ says he gets along with a +church, cold or hot.</p> + +<p>But an unmitigated nuisance to God and man is a half-and-half church, +with piety tepid. The pulpit in such a church makes more of orthodoxy +than it does of Christ. It is immense on definitions. It treats of +justification and sanctification as though they were two corpses to be +dissected. Its sermons all have a black morocco cover, which some +affectionate sister gave the pastor before he was married, to wrap his +discourse in, lest it get mussed in the dust of the pulpit. Its gestures +are methodical, as though the man were ever conscious that they had been +decreed from all eternity, and he were afraid of interfering with the +decree by his own free agency.</p> + +<p>Such a pulpit never startles the people with the horrors of an undone +eternity. No strong meat, but only pap, flour and water, mostly water. +The church prayer-meeting is attended only by a few gray heads who have +been in the habit of going there for twenty years, not because they +expect any arousing time or rapturous experiences, but because they feel +only a few will be there, and they ought to go.</p> + +<p>The minister is sound. The membership sound. The music sound. If, +standing in a city of a hundred thousand people, there are five or ten +conversions in a year, everything is thought to be "encouraging." But +Christ says that such a church is an emetic. "Because thou art neither +cold nor hot, I will spew thee out of my mouth."</p> + +<p>My friends, you had better warm up or freeze over. Better set the kettle +outside in the atmosphere at zero, or put it on the altar of God and +stir up the coals into a blaze. If we do not, God will remove us.</p> + +<p>Christian men are not always taken to heaven as a reward, but sometimes +to get them out of the <a name="Page_316" id="Page_316" />way on earth. They go to join the tenth-rate +saints in glory; for if such persons think they will stand with Paul, +and Harlan Page, and Charlotte Elizabeth, they are much mistaken.</p> + +<p>When God takes them up, the church here is better off. We mourn slightly +to have them go, because we have got used to having them around, and at +the funeral the minister says all the good things about the man that can +well be thought of, because we want to make the funeral as respectable +as possible. I never feel so much tempted to lie as when an inconsistent +and useless Christian has died, and I want in my final remarks to make a +good case out for the poor fellow. Still, it is an advantage to have +such a man get out of the way. He is opposed to all new enterprises. He +puts back everything he tries to help. His digestion of religious things +is impaired, and his circulation is so poor that no amount of friction +can arouse him.</p> + +<p>Now, it is dangerous for any of you to stay in that condition. If you +cannot be moved, God will kill you, and He will put in your place those +who will do the work you are neglecting.</p> + +<p>My friends, let all arouse! The nearness of our last account, the +greatness of the work to be done, and the calls of God's word and +providence, ought to stir our souls. After having been in the harvest +field so long it would be a shame in the nightfall of death to go home +empty-handed. Gather up a few gleanings from the field, and beat them +out, that it may be found that Ruth had at least "one ephah of barley."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXVII" id="CHAPTER_LXVII" /><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317" />CHAPTER LXVII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">THORNS.</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>The Christian world has long been guessing what Paul's thorn in the +flesh was. I have a book that in ten pages tries to show what Paul's +thorn was not, and in another ten pages tries to show what it was.</p> + +<p>Many of the theological doctors have felt Paul's pulse to see what was +the matter with him. I suppose that the reason he did not tell us what +it was may have been because he did not want us to know. He knew that if +he stated what it was there would have been a great many people from +Corinth bothering him with prescriptions as to how he might cure it.</p> + +<p>Some say it was diseased eyes, some that it was a humped back. It may +have been neuralgia. Perhaps it was gout, although his active habits and +a sparse diet throw doubt on the supposition. Suffice to say it was a +thorn—that is, it stuck him. It was sharp.</p> + +<p>It was probably of not much account in the eyes of the world. It was not +a trouble that could be compared to a lion or a boisterous sea. It was +like a thorn that you may have in your hand or foot and no one know it. +Thus we see that it becomes a type of those little nettlesome worries of +life that exasperate the spirit.</p> + +<p>Every one has a thorn sticking him. The housekeeper finds it in +unfaithful domestics; or an inmate who keeps things disordered; or a +house too small for convenience or too large to be kept cleanly. The +professional man finds it in perpetual interruptions or calls for "more +copy."<a name="Page_318" id="Page_318" /> The Sabbath-school teacher finds it in inattentive scholars, or +neighboring teachers that talk loud and make a great noise in giving a +little instruction.</p> + +<p>One man has a rheumatic joint which, when the wind is northeast, lifts +the storm signal. Another a business partner who takes full half the +profits, but does not help earn them. These trials are the more +nettlesome because, like Paul's thorn, they are not to be mentioned. Men +get sympathy for broken bones and mashed feet, but not for the end of +sharp thorns that have been broken off in the fingers.</p> + +<p>Let us start out with the idea that we must have annoyances. It seems to +take a certain number of them to keep us humble, wakeful and prayerful. +To Paul the thorn was as disciplinary as the shipwreck. If it is not one +thing, it is another. If the stove does not smoke, the boiler must leak. +If the pen is good, the ink must be poor. If the editorial column be +able, there must be a typographical blunder. If the thorn does not +pierce the knee, it must take you in the back. Life must have sharp +things in it. We cannot make up our robe of Christian character without +pins and needles.</p> + +<p>We want what Paul got—grace to bear these things. Without it we become +cross, censorious and irascible. We get in the habit of sticking our +thorns into other people's fingers. But God helping us, we place these +annoyances in the category of the "all things that work together for +good." We see how much shorter these thorns are than the spikes that +struck through the palms of Christ's hands; and remembering that he had +on his head a whole crown of thorns, we take to ourselves the +consolation that if we suffer with him on earth we shall be glorified +with him in heaven.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319" />But how could Paul positively rejoice in these infirmities? I answer +that the school of Christ has three classes of scholars. In the first +class we learn how to be stuck with thorns without losing our patience. +In the second class we learn how to make the sting positively +advantageous. In the third class of this school we learn how even to +rejoice in being pierced and wounded, but that is the senior class; and +when we get to that, we are near graduation into glory.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXVIII" id="CHAPTER_LXVIII" /><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320" />CHAPTER LXVIII.</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-weight: bold;">WHO TOUCHED ME?</p> + +<div><br /></div> +<div><br /></div> + +<p>There is nothing more unreasonable and ungovernable than a crowd of +people. Men who standing alone or in small groups are deliberate in all +they do, lose their self-control when they come to stand in a crowd. You +have noticed this, if you have heard a cry of fire in a large +assemblage, or have seen people moving about in great excitement in some +mass-meeting, shoving, jostling and pulling at each other.</p> + +<p>But while the Lord Jesus had been performing some wonderful works, and a +great mob of people were around Him, shoving this way and that way, all +the jostling He received evoked from Him no response.</p> + +<p>After a while I see a wan and wasted woman pressing through the crowd. +She seems to have a very urgent errand. I can see from her countenance +that she has been a great sufferer. She comes close enough to put her +finger on the hem of Christ's garment, and the very moment she puts her +finger on that garment, Jesus says: "Who touched me?"</p> + +<p>I would like to talk to you of the extreme sensitiveness of Jesus. It is +very often the case that those men who are mighty, have very little +fineness of feeling; but notwithstanding the fact that the Lord Jesus +Christ was the King of glory, having all power in heaven and on earth, +so soon as this sick woman comes up and puts her finger on the hem of +His garment, that moment all the feelings of His soul are aroused, and +He cries out: "Who touched me?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321" />I remark that poverty touches Him. The Bible says that this woman had +spent all her money on physicians; she had not got the worth of her +money. Those physicians in Oriental lands were very incompetent for +their work, and very exorbitant in their demands. You know they have a +habit even to this day in those countries of making very singular +charges. Sometimes they examine the capacity of the person to pay, and +they take the entire estate.</p> + +<p>At any rate, this woman spoken of in the text had spent her money on +physicians, and very poor physicians at that. The Lord saw her poverty +and destitution. He knew from what a miserable home she had come. He did +not ask, "Who touched me?" because He did not know; He wanted to evoke +that woman's response, and He wanted to point all the multitude to her +particular case before her cure was effected, in order that the +miraculous power might be demonstrated before all the people, and that +they might be made to believe.</p> + +<p>In this day, as then, the touch of poverty always evokes Christ's +attention. If you be one who has had a hard struggle to get daily +bread—if the future is all dark before you—if you are harassed and +perplexed, and know not which way to turn, I want you to understand +that, although in this world there may be no sympathy for you, the heart +of the Lord Jesus Christ is immediately moved, and you have but to go to +Him and touch Him with your little finger, and you arouse all the +sympathies of His infinite nature.</p> + +<p>I also learn that sickness touches Him. She had been an invalid for +twelve years. How many sleepless nights, what loss of appetite, what +nervousness, what unrest, what pain of body, the world knew not. But +when she came up and put her finger on Christ's garment, all her +suffering <a name="Page_322" id="Page_322" />thrilled through the heart of Christ instantaneously.</p> + +<p>When we are cast down with Asiatic cholera or yellow fever, we cry to +God for pity; but in the ailments of life that continue from day to day, +month to month and year to year are you in the habit of going to Christ +for sympathy? Is it in some fell disaster alone that you call to God for +mercy, or is it in the little aches and pains of your life that you +implore Him? Don't try to carry these burdens alone. These chronic +diseases are the diseases that wear out and exhaust Christian grace, and +you need to get a new supply. Go to Him this night, if never before, +with all your ailments of body, and say: "Lord Jesus, look upon my aches +and pains. In this humble and importunate prayer I touch thee."</p> + +<p>I remark further that the Saviour is touched with all bereavements. +Perhaps there is not a single room in your house but reminds you of some +one who has gone. You cannot look at a picture without thinking she +admired that. You cannot see a toy but you think she played with it. You +cannot sit down and put your fingers on the piano without thinking she +used to handle this instrument, and everything that is beautiful in your +home is suggestive of positive sadness.</p> + +<p>Graves! graves! graves! It is the history of how many families to-night! +You measure your life from tear to tear, from groan to groan, from +anguish to anguish, and sometimes you feel that God has forsaken you, +and you say, "Is His mercy clean gone forever, and will He be favorable +no more?"</p> + +<p>Can it be, my afflicted friends, that you have been so foolish as to try +to carry the burden alone, when there is an almighty arm willing to be +thrust under you? Can it be that you have traveled that desert not +willing to drink of the <a name="Page_323" id="Page_323" />fountains that God opened at your feet? Oh, +have you not realized the truth that Jesus is sympathetic with +bereavement? Did He not mourn at the grave of Lazarus, and will He not +weep with all those who are mourning over the dead?</p> + +<p>You may feel faint from your bereavements, and you may not know which +way to turn, and all human solace may go for nothing; but if you would +this night with your broken heart just go one step further forward, +pressing through all the crowd of your perplexities, anxieties and +sorrows, you might with one finger move His heart, and He would say, +looking upon you with infinite comfort and compassion, "Who touched me?"</p> + +<p>I remark that all our sins touch Him. It is generally the fact that we +make a record only of those sins which are sins of the action; but where +there is one sin of the action there are thousands of thought. Let us +remember that God puts down in His book all the iniquitous thoughts that +have ever gone through your souls. There they stand—the sins of 1820; +the sins of 1825; all the sins of 1831; the sins of 1835; the sins of +1840; the sins of 1846; the sins of 1850; the sins of 1853; the sins of +1859; the sins of 1860; the sins of 1865; the sins of 1870; the sins of +1874. Oh, I can't think of it with any degree of composure. I should fly +in terror did I not feel that those sins had been erased by the hand of +my Lord Jesus Christ—that hand which was wounded for my transgression.</p> + +<p>The snow falls on the Alps flake by flake, and day after day, and month +after month, and after a while, at the touch of a traveler's foot, the +avalanche slides down upon the villages with terrific crash and thunder. +So the sins of our life accumulate and pile up, and after a while, +unless we are rescued by the grace of our Lord Jesus, they <a name="Page_324" id="Page_324" />will come +down upon our souls in an avalanche of eternal ruin.</p> + +<p>When we think of our sins, we are apt to think of those we have recently +committed—those sins of the past day, or the past week, or the past +year; those sins that have been in the far distance are all gone from +our memory. You can't call a half dozen of them up in your mind. But God +remembers every one of them. There is a record made of them. They will +be your overthrow unless you somehow get them out of that book.</p> + +<p>In the great day of judgment, God will call the roll, and they will all +answer, "here!" "here!" "here!"</p> + +<p>Oh, how they have wounded Jesus! Did He not come into this world to save +us? Have not these sins been committed against the heart and mercy of +our Lord Jesus? Sins committed against us by an enemy we can stand; but +by a friend, how hard it is to bear! Have we not wounded the Lord Jesus +Christ in the house of His friends?</p> + +<p>Since we stood up in the presence of the great congregation and attested +our love for Christ and said from this time we will serve the Lord, have +we not all been recreant? Have we not gone astray like lost sheep, and +there is no health in us? Oh, they touch Christ; they have touched Him +on the tenderest spot of His heart.</p> + +<p>Let us bemoan this treatment of our best friend. It seems to me Christ +was never so lovely as He is now—the chief among ten thousand and the +one altogether lovely. Why can't you come and put your trust in Him? He +is an infinite Saviour. He can take all the iniquities of your life and +cast them behind His back. Blessed is the man who has obtained His +forgiveness, and whose sins are covered!</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14662 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + + + + diff --git a/14662-h/images/title.jpg b/14662-h/images/title.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e8f03bd --- /dev/null +++ b/14662-h/images/title.jpg |
