CHAPTER IV. A SOLEMN HOUR COMPLETELY SPOILED.
The Scripture Club of Valley Rest, on the fourth day of its assembling, found itself a fixed and famous institution. Some of the members had at first regretted that no one of the smaller rooms in the church edifice was unoccupied at the hour of session; but this regret was soon abandoned, for the reason that neither the pastors study nor the regular Bible class-room, had either been available at the noon-day hour, would have been large enough to accommodate the class and its visitors. The main audience-room was the only one which was adequate to the requirements of the class. When the benediction was pronounced after the morning sermon, a large portion of the congregation remained, and, instead of chatting leisurely with the occupants of neighboring pews and preventing the exit of unsociable people, they hurried to the seats nearest the corner occupied by the class. Even then, those who came last were occasionally compelled to exclaim "Louder!" for the attendants of the Second Church did not compose the entire body of hearers. Members of the five other churches in the town, though loath to depart from their denominational associations and pride so far as to worship elsewhere, were not only without scruples against listening to an informal body like the Scripture Club, but hurried from their own places of worship to the Second Church, and some of them were suspected even of staying away from their own services in order to reach the Scripture Club in time to secure good seats.
The effect of all this upon the Club was stimulating in high degree. Its first effect was to decrease whatever tendency to personality existed; whatever might be the week-day opinions of the members about each other, on Sunday every one tacitly agreed to the application of the Satanic rule that religion is religion, and business is business. Some special effort was necessary to bring Squire Woodhouse to forget, for an hour in the week, his burned barn and the action of President Lottson's insurance company; but finally the Squire's pride closed his lips upon this tender subject. Members, who before had possessed no religious ideas excepting those they had adopted at second-hand, now began to think for themselves, and being men of natural wits well sharpened by business experience, they speedily developed theories of their own, and strengthened their own pet positions. The few religious books of reference in the village library—many of them having once been gladly given to the library by the very men who now sought them—were in demand at early morn and dewy eve, pastors' libraries were ransacked, and some members even consulted booksellers, and purchased works bearing upon their own special lines of thought and belief. Respect for the ideas of others did not necessarily imply assent, so discussion was frequent and animated. Champions of the faith—as delivered unto themselves—were numerous, and assailants of the truth as held by the orthodox were in sufficient numbers to keep their antagonists from lapsing into a condition of mere assertion. And over and around everything, like a glorious halo, was the assurance, always prominent, that free speech would not only be welcomed, but that the lack of it, from any motive of fear or conservatism, would greatly be regretted by every member.
The discussion of the first beatitude consumed the time of four entire sessions, and during all these days it was in vain that Mr. Hopper carried the review containing the paper on "The True Location of the Holy Sepulchre." When, on the fifth day, Deacon Bates asked whether any other members had anything to say on the subject under consideration, Captain Maile made answer:
"Call it a drawn fight, and give it up at that; if any man here had been whipped, he wouldn't know it."
"Oh, come, come!" said Squire Woodhouse, "I'll join issue with you on that. I want to know what 'poor in spirit' means, and have a share in the kingdom of heaven——"
"But you don't want to know where or what the kingdom is," interrupted Mr. Jodderel.
"Yes, I do; but I want first to know what poor in spirit means. I feel pretty sure about it now, but——"
"That's it, exactly," said Captain Maile. "But—but you don't want to be anything that interferes with business. Give us something easier, Mr. Leader."
There were some indignant whispers of dissent, but none of them were audible enough to attract the attention of the class, and Deacon Bates read the next verse.
"Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted," read Deacon Bates. "Brother Prymm, will you open the discussion of this beatitude?"
"There is none other more precious to the earthly nature," said Mr. Prymm, "and yet the passage proves the comprehensiveness peculiar to inspired words. Sin and perplexity are the lot of all mortals, and they bring trouble with them; but the single sorrow which raises man up to God, and brings God down to man, is mourning. It may be done from sinful causes—upon earth—but whatever the cause, the act itself shows us how near God is to us, and what are his sentiments usward. He knows from the greatness and purity of his own nature how intense this sentiment may be, and his sympathy shows itself so tenderly in no other way as by this promise, that he will come to his children and comfort them when they are in sorrow. What an evidence of the need of a God does this promise afford! Where else can we turn for true comfort when in trouble? Earthly friends lack that knowledge of us from which alone true sympathy can come; the pleasure of the flesh can give us nothing better than temporary forgetfulness; but the divine sympathy is perfect in its knowledge, timely and appropriate in its expression, and incalculable in its force and endurance."
"I am glad to offer my weak testimony in support of the remarks of Brother Prymm," said Builder Stott, who came next in the order of rotation. "I have had my sad experiences in this world,—all of you have had yours, I suppose,—but it seems to me that mine have been peculiar. I've trusted men and been swindled by them. I've been abused for things that I never thought of doing. I've lost dear ones that left places that have never been filled and never can be, and I have found no one whose words could be more than a mockery—one that wasn't intended, of course, but that hurt just as badly as if it had. It has been only when on my knees, or praying silently as I walked the street, that I found a sympathizing friend. There can be no doubt in me about what that passage means—I know all about it by blessed experience."
"So do I," said Mr. Buffle. "I've been what men call fortunate in this world's affairs, but if any one here thinks that money can buy exemption from misery, I want to tell him that he's greatly mistaken. I lost a child two or three years ago—some of you remember her; I'd have changed places with the cheapest workman in my shipyard—yes, the most miserable beggar in the street—if by doing so I could have brought her back again. But money couldn't do it, and, as our friend Stott has just remarked, the best of earthly friends couldn't take the sting away. I can't say that God's comfort came just when I most wanted it, but God is good and wise; he sent it when he thought best, and it was full of blessing when it came. It doesn't heal wounds to be comforted by Heaven—the wounds remain as tender as ever; but the pain and the feeling of hopelessness depart, and a man is made to feel like the wounded soldier, or the wrecked, starved sailor when help comes—he knows he has a friend to lean upon."
Mr. Buffle felt for his handkerchief and applied it to his eyes; an operation which, in spite of his great-heartedness, he seldom had occasion to perform in public: meanwhile Broker Whilcher said:
"I don't agree with every one here, as most of you know; but the beautiful promise which forms the subject of our lesson to-day has been fulfilled to me. I can't explain how, but I profess to be too much of a man to deny what I learn by experience, even when I can't ascertain who my teacher is. My own great ups and downs of life have been principally social, and, as has been remarked by others, they are the hardest of any to bear. And somehow—I wish I could learn how—I have been helped, soothed, sustained, whenever I could abandon myself to the influence of whatever higher power it is that looks to the hearts of men and sees that they are not entirely crushed."
"The older a man grows in years and experience," said Judge Cottaway, without his official cough, "the greater his experience of sorrow. The exercise of wisdom may prevent some troubles that carelessness and ignorance may induce, but even then there is more of misery in life than any human influences can avert. I believe, after much deliberation upon the evidence adduced from the affairs of men, that the Comforter is also the one who afflicts in many cases; but so certain am I of his wisdom and goodness that I would never avert his chastening hand. The cry of Christ in the garden, 'O, my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt,' should be the sentiment of every one that is in affliction. That more bitter cry that was sounded from the Cross may also be, without sin, re-echoed by the human soul in trouble; but every one learns, by blessed experience, that the soul is never forsaken, and that our sorrows are known to Heaven better than they are to ourselves."
Mr. Jodderel sat next, and Squire Woodhouse whispered to his nearest neighbor:
"Too bad; he'll bring in the kingdom of heaven and pit it against the Ring." But to the astonishment of every one, Mr. Jodderel said only:
"No one knows more of this blessed Comforter than I. My childish days were heavily clouded; I was abused in youth; I am misunderstood now; I have lost dear ones; a long procession has preceded me to the grave, each member of it leaving my heart more lonely than before, and the time has come when I am too old to search for new friends and dear ones. But upon my knees, or as I commune with him upon my bed in the night season, or when I read his precious promises given by word of mouth or through his holy prophets, I find consolation and hope and cheer, and forget that I am a lonely old man in an unsympathetic world."
"Captain Maile?" said Leader Bates, and the ex-warrior responded:
"Everything I have heard this morning agrees with my own experience, and no matter what doubters may say and hypocrites may help them to make people believe, I can never forget the special blessings I have received in affliction, and when I have least expected them."
Squire Woodhouse sat next to Captain Maile, and joined in the general acknowledgment by saying:
"You all know me, my friends; you know I've often had a pretty hard row to hoe, for often it's been in a shape that hoeing couldn't help. But when the worst has come, and I couldn't do anything but stand still and endure it; when I couldn't shake it off, or forget it, or improve it any way, there came in just when I couldn't expect it, or see how it could happen even with God managing it; when every one I leaned on failed me, and I had to shut myself up in my own miserable heart—then there came a visitor that made himself at home, helped me, changed me, made a new man of me, and showed me that the worst chance of man is the best one for God—blessings on his holy name forever."
Then Dr. Fahrenglotz said:
"For myself, I have no family ties. I never knew my parents, for they entered into the unknowable while I was yet a babe; I have had neither brother nor sister, but I have had friends, and they have passed away, leaving my heart as empty as if it had never contained any other denizen. I have felt the last pulsation of the heart-dealings of many of you, and have watched you afterward with a solicitude which it might have seemed officious for me to have expressed. And to myself and to others I have known true, mysterious comfort to come, I know not from where; the great outer, the intangible envelope of the human heart, is hidden from my sight and thought; but from it I know there comes a subtle mystery whose influence transcends that of mortals, and which influence is tender, soothing, and lasting—an influence which I cannot characterize more aptly than to say that it must come from some one or some principle of nature akin to that of Him whom most religious bodies denominate The Great Physician."
"Excuse me, gentlemen," said young Mr. Banty, who had come in late, and had, sorely against his will, been compelled to occupy a seat among those whom he called "the Saints;" "Excuse me; I didn't come in to say anything to-day, but, things going as they are, I can't be quiet. I went abroad a year ago; most of you know why. There was a lady in the question. She died; I suppose it was best for her, for I didn't, in the slightest degree, begin to be fit for her, but her death didn't hurt me any the less. I haven't, since then, been as good a man as I should have been. I don't mind saying that the ways in which I've tried to forget my trouble haven't been such as have done me any good. But as everybody else has opened his heart to-day, I wouldn't be a bit of a man if I kept mine shut. I want to say that when I have a quiet hour, and get to thinking about that girl, there's something happens that I don't understand, but I'm very thankful for. I got to be a great deal less despairing, though, at the same time, I think a great deal more tenderly about her. I lose my ugliness at losing her; I see how much better it was for her; I see how things had better go as they should than as I want them, and I come out of that time less willing to go on a spree, less anxious to see the boys, and more anxious to go on thinking than to do anything else."
The order of rotation demanded that the next speaker should be Mr. Alleman, and that gentleman remarked:
"I am heartily glad to see that there is one ground upon which all of us can meet. Those of you who know me know what frequent occasion I have had to learn all that you have learned of the unspeakable power of a comforting God. I have instinctively passed the greater portion of my life in my affections, for I know of no other sentiment which is so all-comprehensive; and through these I have found daily new causes for mourning. We are informed by Jesus that the greatest of all commandments is that enjoining love toward God, and that the second is like unto it, 'Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.' To try to fulfill this command is to have constant incentives to mournfulness. Every day I have them, from some cause heretofore unexpected, and the causes involve so many other people in troubles, which might be avoided, and for which I can blame only myself, that but for the presence of the Comforter I would be driven to despair or madness. What a tremendous responsibility rests upon us, my friends, in this our greatest relation to humanity, and how impossible it would be to endure it unless aided by a power greater than our own. I cannot, by any words, express my satisfaction at hearing so many men, and, in other religious matters, men of such differing views, testify to the unfailing promptness of the Great Sympathizer. And I should be glad to hear a wider expression of experiences, and assure myself that, in troubles outside the range purely personal, my fellow-beings enjoy the comfort that I do. I am confident that the recital of such experiences would strengthen every one for greater works of humanity and love."
There was a dead silence for several minutes, and the leader finally relieved the uncomfortable sensation of the members by asking:
"Has any one any other remarks to offer?"
No one responded.
"The next lesson, which we will hardly have time to begin to-day, will be upon the third beatitude," said Deacon Bates. "The class may consider itself dismissed, I suppose."
"Now, wasn't that just like Alleman?" asked Squire Woodhouse of Captain Maile. "We were having the most heavenly time I ever did know inside of a church, and he utterly ruined it."
"The rest of you didn't act a bit as if you'd ruined yourselves, did you?" asked the Captain, in reply.
"Why, how?" asked the Squire.
"Eyes have they, but they see not," answered the Captain, starting abruptly for his carriage.