Elizabeth: the Disinherited Daughter / By E. Ben Ez-er

by Ebenezer Arnold

CHAPTER I.

ELIZABETH AS MISTRESS OF THE "COTTAGE CHAPEL."

One of the most natural consultations of the newly married couple is the plan of their first house. How chatty and cheery a pair of newly mated birds appear, in counsel over their nest-building! This schoolmaster and mistress are home from their toil and care for the day, and are again devoting an evening to the scheme of their first dwelling. It is not a large or magnificent concern, but it has already been neatly draughted, carefully considered, and builders' estimates footed up. All seems to be about right; but Elizabeth has gone off into a brown study. Her countenance betrays unusual agitation, and her pensive eye is filled with tears. Her husband supposes she is thinking of the mansion from which she has been spurned, as contrasted with the humble dwelling they are planning, but she hastens to correct the mistake and assure him that her musings were in the opposite direction entirely. "I was thinking of our dear people, and how much they need in this suburb of the town some place to hold meetings in. And this thought struck my mind almost like an inspiration: Why not extend our plan up high enough for an 'upper room' for meetings?" This notion, carefully considered, not only in these consultations but in the prayers that closed them, impressed them both as a divine suggestion. The house was built accordingly. An outside staircase gave access to the upper story, which was all finished off in a rough, cheap manner for a chapel, and immediately and for a few years was occupied by the Methodist people of the south part of Middletown and of the farms adjoining, for prayer meetings, class meetings, and occasional exhortation and preaching.

Among the church privileges which had cost this disinherited daughter so dearly few ever equaled in sweet enjoyment this cottage chapel arrangement. She no longer had to steal away and snatch a few minutes once or twice a month to associate with the advocates of free grace, as she once did, nor be shut entirely away from their beloved society, as for nearly a year, in that terrible season of persecution and despair. The church she loved came to her door. Her home echoed their prayers, songs, testimonies, and shouts. She lived, toiled, ate, and slept under the shadow of the hallowed "upper room," so often, like the one in Jerusalem, "filled with the Holy Ghost." She knew, as no one else could, how much such privileges had cost her, but still insisted that they never cost a tithe of what they were worth. Nor was the gratification of this ardent lover of Methodism the chief result of this chapel arrangement. There the Church found asylum from persecution; and if we may estimate the value of such a refuge from the alarm of the enemy it must have proved a precious boon. Often were the pious band obliged to come early and lock themselves in to escape the fury of the mob, which would curse and mock without. But sometimes, unable to reach them or seriously to annoy them by their howlings, they would vent their spite upon the premises. Now it would be by breaking windows. Again, finding the windows guarded with thick board blinds, they would tear down fences, fill the well with wood, etc. In several instances it came out in one way and another that some attendant of the "standing order" furnished the rum that stimulated the rabble to make these attempts to drive off these "deceivers of the last days, that should deceive the very elect." But "the more they afflicted them the more they multiplied and grew;" so that in a few years the place became "too strait for them." Even members of the mob of one meeting would be "awakened" while listening for something to mock, and scarcely able to restrain themselves, while with their comrades they would come early to the next meeting, get fastened in with the pious and the penitent, and, making humble confession, seek and find salvation, and become lively members of the church they had persecuted.

Who can estimate the amount of good done in that "upper room" at the dawn of the nineteenth century? "When God writeth up his people" of how many will it be counted, "This man was born there?" Who can stand on the hill where once stood that unpretending home with a "meeting house" on the top of it, and look over to University Hill, crowned with those Methodist halls of science and art, and see no connection between the humble seed-sowing and the waving harvest?

Soon after the supersedure of this chapel loft Mrs. Elizabeth began to reckon her work nearly done in Middletown; and, a good offer being about that time made for their valuable situation, she began to hope and pray for the accomplishment of a cherished longing to live near the place of her spiritual birth.

Mr. Arnold had followed two lines of business from his majority: Teaching through the long winters of New England, and coast trading summers. He was brought up a farmer, but fancied that he had but little genius for that vocation. After his marriage and settlement he shortened up his summer sailing, giving himself time during spring and autumn to cultivate, or at least plant and reap, his rich little place.

With the growing cares of the family the wife and mother was desirous to "get him away from the water" and settle down upon a farm. As they pondered the question, and committed it in prayer to Him whom they trusted to "set the bounds of their habitations," they seemed to hear in gentle whispers, "Ye have compassed this mountain long enough;" "Arise, for this is not your rest."

So they concluded to sell out their first home, bid adieu to the beloved church at Middletown, and try to find a home somewhere near Pittsfield, Mass.