Without reproach or fear!
Said I not well that Bayards
And Sidneys still are here?”
Whittier.
IT was customary to hold missionary meetings in the various villages of the Kesterton Circuit during the months of winter; and these occasions were almost always characterised by an outcome of hospitality on the part of the sympathising villagers, an enthusiasm in the great mission cause, and a liberality in its support which was very beautiful to see. The speakers usually consisted of, at least, one of the circuit ministers, a minister from a neighbouring circuit as “the deputation,” and a local preacher or two, with some neighbouring man of influence and means to take the chair. The reading of the “report,” containing an abstract of the general doings of the society, was not usually a popular part of the programme, but the statement of local subscriptions and donations always made up for that. Probably the names of one or two neighbouring farmers appeared with the time-honoured “guinea” appended as their annual donation. There was sure to be a missionary box or two, containing the result of much patient painstaking on the part of the collector during the preceding year. Not seldom, a missionary lamb, or goose, or pear-tree, or other cash-producing entity, figured in the report, and told of contrivance and self-sacrifice on the part of some who desired to have an honourable “share in the concern.”
About the period of which I am writing, the annual meeting was appointed to be held at Bexton, a considerable village situated a few miles from the circuit town. As usual, the day was regarded by the generality of Bextonians as being quite as fit an occasion for a holiday as the village feast. The farmyards of the Methodist farmers, as well as the open space beside the “King’s Head,” was filled with gigs, traps, spring-carts, and other vehicles, which had brought a large number of invited visitors; for the good folks of Bexton were resolved that the proceeds of the anniversary should go “beyond last year.” They accounted themselves peculiarly fortunate in having secured the young squire of Waverdale as the chairman on this auspicious occasion, and on having captured a “great gun from York as the deputation.” Both Mr. Clayton and his colleague were present, as well as Mr. Harrison, a local preacher from Kesterton; and last, not least, Old Adam Olliver had accepted the warm invitation of a sister of Mrs. Houston’s who resided in the village, and as the quaint old man was a prime favourite all round the neighbourhood, nothing would do but he must take a seat on the platform and say a few words to the people.
Philip Fuller opened the proceedings with a brief and simple address, and did his work in such a transparently earnest and unassuming fashion that he was heartily cheered; and Mr. Mitchell was led subsequently to make the original remark that “the chairman had struck the keynote, and given a good tone to the meeting.” Philip described himself as only a “raw recruit” in the great army, but, “thanks to his old friend, Adam Olliver,” he had no doubt of his enlistment in the Church militant, and, said he, “by God’s help, I will not only never desert or betray my Captain, but will spend my life in the interests of His cause.”
In the course of the meeting, the Chairman, having called upon Mr. Mitchell, Mr. Clayton, and Mr. Harrison, said that “Mr. Olliver” would now address the meeting. Loud and long-continued cheers greeted the announcement, amid which Adam retained his seat, looking all round the platform and the congregation, and finally at the door, to see the man who was having so warm a welcome. When the cheering had subsided, the Chairman looked at Adam, and Adam looked at him. All at once a light broke in on the old man, and jumping to his feet, he said,—
“Lawk-a-massy! Maister Philip! Ah didn’t knoa ’at yo’ meant me. Ah nivver was called ‘Mr. Olliver’ i’ all mi’ life afoore, an’ me an’ it dizn’t seeam te agree. It’s like blo’in’ t’ cooachman’s ’orn iv a wheelbarro’, or puttin’ a gilt knocker on a barn deear. Ah’ve been ax’d te say a few wods, bud ah isn’t mitch ov a speeaker, an’ yo’ needn’t be freeten’d ’at ah sall tak’ up mitch o’ yer tahme. Ah knoa ’at yo’ want te hear t’ greeat man ’at’s cum all t’ way frae York te help i’ this good cause. God bless ’im! an’ give him mooth, matter, an’ wisdom, an’ tak’ ’im seeafe yam ageean, nae warse i’ body an’ better i’ sowl. Maister Philip, ah’ve cum frae Kesterton mainly te see you i’ that chair. You’re t’ right man i’ t’ right spot. Ah sall nivver forget that ’appy day upo’ Nestleton Woad, when the Lord ‘listed yo’, as you say, an’ gav’ yo’ the boonty munny o’ pardonin’ peeace. Ah’s quite sartain ’at t’ greeat Captain ov oor salvaytion meeans yo’ te be, nut a private souldier, bud a general i’ t’ hosts o’ God’s elect; an’ ah pray ivvery day o’ my life ’at God ’ll bless yo’, an’ mak’ yo’ a blessin’: that yo’ may fight the good fight o’ fayth an’ lay hod ov etarnal life. Ah luv t’ mission cause, because it brings perishin’ sowls te Jesus, an’ tak’s t’ blood-stayned banner o’ t’ Cross inte heeathen lands. Ah prays for it all’us, an’ ah gives all t’ brass ah can spare, efter buyin’ breead an’ cheese for me an’ Judy, te the Lord’s cause beeath at worn an’ abroad. Ah’s glad te see sae monny labourin’ men here te-neet. Mah deear frens, you an’ me can’t gie mitch munny, but we can pray as hard as onybody; an’ it isn’t hoo mitch we gie, bud hoo mitch we luv, an’ hoo ’artily we deea wer best. Angels can deea nae mair then that, an’ God ’ll bless it. T’ poor wido’ ’at nobbut put two mites inte t’ box, did what was pleeasing te Jesus, an’ her munny fell thro’ t’ nick wiv a sweeter chink then t’ golden sovereigns o’ t’ rich fooaks meead, because she put ’er heart atween t’ bits o’ brass, an’ sae gay’ mair then ’em all. May the Lord bless uz, an’ cause His feeace te shine on uz, an may His way be knoan upo’ t’ ’arth an’ His seeavin’ health te all naytions.”