I've Been Thinking; or, the Secret of Success

by A. S. Roe

The old man could say no more, but with his heart overflowing with joy, he arose, pressed the hand of Mr. Tracy, and in silence hobbled out of the room and through the gate, and took his usual seat, waiting for his son to untie the beast and drive him home.

The tidings that their young teacher was to hold a meeting on the Sabbath day soon spread throughout the place; and when he proceeded to give public notice to his school, it was only a confirmation to the boys that the report was true.

It was a calm, lovely autumn day; and as Henry Tracy walked on his way by the path which he had chosen for his daily route to the school-house, his feelings were lulled into delicious repose; the rustling of the leaves, the stillness that reigned in field and wood, the waning tints of nature, the modest tones of the school-bell, calling all within its reach to the place of meeting; the little groups which could be seen in different roads, bending their steps thither; it seemed more like the Sabbath day than any he had spent here yet.

He had done what he could to prepare himself, and he had a strong consciousness of being in the path of duty; and he felt a composure in view of the undertaking which he could not have anticipated. A few persons were collected round the door; they immediately followed him as he entered: to his surprise a large congregation was waiting his appearance.

As he took his seat on a little platform that had been prepared for the occasion, and cast his eye over the assembly, like a flash of light his usually pale features were crimsoned with a deep blush, and then away it flew, and a deadly paleness that alarmed every beholder came in its place. A sympathy was excited in every bosom; his youth, his modesty, his grace of manner, his unostentatious effort to do them good, like a talisman spread its charm over all alike, and prepared them to receive whatever he should say, with the deepest attention. Henry was obliged to arouse himself, in order to overcome the oppressive weight that was becoming heavier every moment; he therefore proceeded at once to the business before him. He gave out a hymn, which he read with much propriety, and then inquired if there was any one present who could lead in singing; but as no one seemed ready to undertake, he commenced a familiar tune. An electric shock could not have surprised them more, than the melodious notes which rolled forth upon their delighted ears. Henry Tracey was gifted—for a gift surely it was, as no power of accomplishment could ever have imparted it—with one of those rich voices which might have entranced the multitude on a public stage, but its melodious tone had only rung beneath a parent's roof, and its sweetest, most touching notes, had only been drawn forth in praise. Quickened by the music, soon every voice that could follow joined fully in; but above them all, louder and sweeter as the hymn went on, floated those rich strains which Henry poured forth, as from a heart burning with intense devotion. Enraptured, solemnized, softened, the whole assembly, both speaker and hearer, were happily prepared for the remaining services.

The prayer which followed was short and well ordered. He addressed the Being before whom angels veil their faces, with that humility of expression, with that pouring out of the heart in natural tones for a sinner's necessities, which plainly showed he was making a petition for wants which God alone could supply, and not framing forms of sentences to interest or please man.

The passage of Scripture which he had selected was the story of the Prodigal Son, a portion of that blessed volume peculiarly precious to himself; and one with which he had become most familiar, and into the touching scenes it delineated, he had entered with his whole heart.

In a very simple manner, he first explained the meaning of a parable, and the reason why our Saviour chose this method of instruction. Being well versed in ancient manners and customs, and the scenery of the eastern world, he delineated and filled up what was necessary to convey to the minds of uninformed persons, a perfect idea of the whole story. Every eye was riveted upon him, and his energies were strengthened, as he went along, by the deep interest which he saw was awakened among his hearers.

When he had gone through with the story, and brought the prodigal back to his father's arms, he then proceeded to show how clearly it illustrated the sinner's erring path away from God, the fascinations which drew him on, and the misery to which they lead. Here and there a tear would be seen to start, and occasionally a head would droop: it was evident that there were many before him whose real character he had touched. At length he reached the turning point, the resolve of the sinner in his extremity, that he will arise and return to his God. The heart of the speaker filled with deep emotion; his voice trembled, his language became more glowing, his words flowed rapidly; he forgot himself, and free from all embarrassment, poured out the full feelings of his soul. His excited audience sat wrapped in solemnity, and yielded up their hearts to the enchanting theme: like fire in the stubble, the flame flew from heart to heart; tears flowed freely, and when he ceased, there was stillness like the house of mourning, interrupted only by the stifled sob.

He sat down a few moments, and then informed them that the meeting was over. Some arose, but stopped and looked wistfully towards the desk, as though they might yet hear something more; others sat still and wept. Henry prepared to depart; he walked slowly through the benches, preceded by a few persons who were leaving the house.