"OUT OF THE WAY."
HAT was a fine sermon, Herbert! A masterpiece of eloquence and forceful teaching combined," said Mrs. Green to her husband, as they walked home one Sunday morning after service.
A look of pain crossed the good deacon's face, and he answered:
"I have news which will surprise you, Mary. My own suspicion and that of my brother deacons has been fully confirmed this morning."
"What suspicion," asked Mrs. Green quickly.
"That our pastor has for some time past given way to the allurements of strong drink."
"Oh, that is too dreadful! it cannot be true; so good, devoted, and holy a man as I have always thought him to be!"
"It is certainly true. Unfortunately, drink spares none, and the more noble and exalted its victims, the more sure and complete is their downfall. It will seem incredible to you; but the truth is, Mr. Harris preached this morning under the influence of liquor. He had been drinking before he came into the vestry, and was trembling and scarcely able to stand. He said he had been suffering with neuralgia, and asked for a glass of wine to steady his nerves. I said, 'Excuse me, Mr. Harris, it is painfully apparent that you have already indulged too freely in stimulant.' He looked convicted, and covered his face; but presently stammered out something about his excessive intellectual labours compelling him to resort to alcohol. Mr. Shaw then said: 'We would far rather listen to simpler preaching, Mr. Harris, than know that your brilliant discourses are composed and delivered under the stimulus of wine.' He promised to be more careful in the future; but declared that it was quite impossible for him to face the large congregation unless he could gain a little self-command; and truly he was in a pitiable condition. It was close upon service time, and there was no alternative but to give him more wine. To my surprise, immediately afterwards he mounted the pulpit stairs steadily, and conducted the service, as you know, with the utmost propriety. But we are resolved that he must either give up the practice of taking stimulant, or leave the church."
"Oh, Herbert! I'm overwhelmed. Mr. Harris has helped me in my spiritual life as no one else has, and it seems impossible that he could give way to such an awful sin as drunkenness," and Mrs. Green dashed away the tears of sympathy that had fallen, and resolved to hope and pray that her beloved pastor might break from the fatal habit which was making him its victim. But months went by, and Mr. Harris was found to be indulging in still deeper excess, until the story of his downfall was on every lip. Again and again he vowed reformation, and before God and his people humbled himself; but he lacked the needful courage to put the poisonous cup entirely away. "I must take a little, only a little," he said, and that little continually asserted its power to entice and ensnare. Couched in terms of Christian sympathy and forbearance, his dismissal from the flock, over whom for years he had tenderly watched, came at length. He was sitting in his study bending over it in remorse and shame when a knock was heard at his door, and a brother minister entered.
"Just in time to witness my degradation," he exclaimed bitterly. "Look here, Shafton! it has come to this! What will become of my wife and children now?"
The Rev. Ernest Shafton laid his hand upon the shoulder of his brother, perused in silence the official paper before him, and then walked to the window. Deeply cogitating, he stood there for some time, while Mr. Harris's face grew darker, and he muttered, "Turned against me, like every one else! Well, it's my own doing."
"Harris," said Mr. Shafton, suddenly, "do you know what this means for you, my poor fellow?"
"Ruin, I suppose," was the gloomy answer.
"Ay, ruin for time and eternity—having preached to others to become yourself a castaway; but you will not suffer alone, Harris. Your gentle, refined wife will be plunged from comfort to penury; your beautiful, promising children will know the cruel shifts of poverty; will hear their father's name uttered in accents of contempt by a scoffing world; will watch his downward career with fear and loathing, and yet, oh! mark my words, will probably follow in his footsteps, drag out miserable existences, and eventually fill drunkards' graves."
"God forbid! God forbid! anything but that," exclaimed the startled minister, rising in great agitation and pacing the room.
"God does forbid; but you Harris, are paving your children's road to ruin. Come, I have a proposal to make. By God's help, I will save you if you will let me."
"Do what you will, I am ready to submit to anything," groaned the trembling man.
"I will use all my influence to change this dismissal into a long suspension of duties. Meanwhile, you shall leave your home and come and stay with me, and I will stand beside you while you fight in God's strength against your foe; but, my brother, you must pledge yourself to abstain from all intoxicants, now and for ever. Say, are you resolved, for the sake of your wife and children, and your own eternal happiness, to put the accursed thing beneath your feet?"
There was a solemn pause, and in the silence a woman's step crossed the floor, and gentle hands twined round the erring man's neck.
"Jessie, help me, decide for me now," he cried.
Ernest Shafton repeated his proposal to the wife, asking if she would second his efforts to save her husband, by her willing consent to leave him in the care of his friend for a year, or longer if needful, until his reformation were effected.
"A year, did you say? a lifetime, if necessary," was the instant reply. Stooping to her husband's ear she whispered, "Go, dear Henry, and in God's strength fight and conquer. Let no regretful thought turn towards me, for I shall be content.
"'While thee I see
Living to God, thou art alive to me!'"
"You are an angel, Jessie!" exclaimed the man, holding his wife's hands and falling on his knees. Cries for forgiveness for the past and help for the future broke from him as he knelt, and his prayer was heard and answered. In years that followed he looked back upon that memorable hour as the turning-point in his history, and thanked God for the friendly hand that was reached out to save a brother from the abyss which yawned at his feet. Once again he filled an honoured position as the pastor of a large and influential church. Once again he passed in and out of the houses of the people, the beloved friend and ready helper of rich and poor; but in addition to former labours he became everywhere known as the advocate of Total Abstinence for young and old, and so persistent were his efforts in this direction, that many of the deacons and influential men of his church became rigid adherents of the good cause.
"Sir," said one upon whom all the pastor's arguments had apparently been wasted; "Mr. Harris, why can't you let us non-abstainers alone? Let us go our way, and we will accord you the same liberty of action."
Mr. Harris's brow clouded with some painful recollection, and he said with much feeling: "You compel me to refer to the past. Allow me very tenderly, but faithfully to remind you that you did not accord me 'liberty of action' in times gone by."
"What do you mean?" inquired the astonished deacon.
"Forgive me for seeming to be ungrateful for the kindness which alone prompted you; but, oh, my dear friend, remember how in years, that, thank God, are past, you and your brother deacons, equally hospitable and kind-hearted, never allowed me to decline your offer of wine or spirits. If I paid you a call before preaching, you insisted that I needed to be stimulated for my work, and pressed me to accept the best wine your cellars could supply. If I dropped in on my way home, I was sure to be looking white and exhausted, and must therefore take 'just one glass' to restore my energies. Heat and cold, rain and sunshine, joy and sorrow, all afforded you an excuse for compelling me to partake of the fatal cup. Your wines found their way to my table in abundance. Many a time I sought to refuse your false kindness; but you know how deeply I should have grieved you if I had not accepted your hospitality. From the day I first entered upon my pastorate as a moderate drinker, I felt that it was considered a personal slight if I visited any house and refused the proffered wine. Can you wonder that I grew to feel it a necessity? that presently I stumbled and fell, and for a time was 'out of the way through strong drink'? Oh, my brother, let me beg, that, if you cannot banish intoxicants from your home, you will at least refrain from pressing them upon others, lest you cause a weaker brother to offend."
Deeply agitated, the deacon wrung his pastor's hand, abruptly leaving him with the broken words: "Forgive me—I—didn't mean—didn't know—you've won me over at last."
"What is the matter, my dear?" asked Mrs. Green in alarmed tones, as a few minutes later her husband entered the room where she was working, and throwing himself into a chair, buried his face in his hands. The deacon only groaned. "Surely there is nothing wrong with our minister again," said his wife, knowing that her husband had recently been in the company of Mr. Harris.
"No, no, and if so, I, and such as I, would have been to blame, as we were years ago, God forgive us!" Mrs. Green looked at her husband, half-believing that under some sudden strain his mind had lost its balance.
"What do you mean? It was Mr. Harris's own fault that he gave way to drink, and you should remember that you and his other deacons were faithful in your constant warnings and long-suffering with him beyond what might have been expected."
"We, and only we, caused his downfall, and then reproached him for the disgrace he had brought upon our church," gloomily responded the deacon.
"You are speaking in enigmas; do explain yourself, Herbert," impatiently urged his wife.
In answer, Mr. Green repeated the words of his pastor, which had made so deep an impression upon his own mind. When he had finished he looked up to find that his wife's tears were dropping upon the work which had fallen from her hands.
"Oh, how guilty we have been, Herbert! Well do I remember how persistent I always was in my offers of stimulant to our minister in years gone by, and when he declined I pretended to be hurt, and said he must not refuse anything a lady offered, for she would be sure to know what was good for her guest; and then when I conquered, and he reluctantly took the glass from my hands, I felt so exultant, and all the while I was luring him on to the ruin, which might have been eternal."
Mrs. Green broke down utterly, and there was a suspicious huskiness in her husband's voice as he spoke: "Yes, we are indeed guilty, and we may have been no less so in many other instances. Verily, the blood of souls is on our garments. Mary, what shall we do?"
"Can you ask, Herbert? I don't mind how inhospitable it may appear; but I am resolved never again to offer stimulants to our guests, lest I make the same fatal mistake."
"That is well said, my dear; but—but—shall we agree to refrain from offering intoxicants to callers, and the visitors who occasionally sit at our table, lest we place temptation in their way, while every day those dearer than our life sit and partake with us of the cup which I now believe to possess such fatal allurements? If we have decided no longer to tempt our guests, shall we continue to tempt our innocent children, to whom we stand in their early years as their sole medium of light and knowledge? Think, Mary, if a few years hence one of our boys could truthfully say to us what our pastor has just said."
"Don't say any more; I can't bear it, Herbert."
For a few moments there was silence. Then Mrs. Green spoke again: "There is only one step to be taken; from this day all intoxicants must be banished from our home. Neither our children nor our friends must ever have further opportunity of stumbling over our well-meaning but cruel kindness. God, who knows how blindly and ignorantly we have sinned in the past, will surely grant His forgiving mercy to us, and help us in the future to wage successful battle against this subtle foe who has had, till now, his acknowledged place in our house."
"Thank God for that decision; my heart already feels lighter. From this time I will take my stand beside Mr. Harris in his noble Temperance work, and so far as I can, help to repair the wrong we have done him. May God speed our efforts!"
"Amen!" reverently whispered Mrs. Green.
