Last week it was my privilege to attend the meeting of the North Texas Association, held at Cleburne. Tillotson church, on application, was cordially admitted to membership. The same cordiality and courtesy were extended to Brother McLean, late of Talladega College, who applied for membership in his own behalf. Rev. J. W. Roberts, representing the colored church of Dallas, was also present. The dignified, scholarly bearing of both these brethren won for them golden opinions from all who listened to their reports and remarks. Not a few of those who were present at the various sessions were Southerners, but apparently none the less interested on that account. It was my fortune to be entertained by an ex-slaveholder, who served in the Confederate army through the war, but who nevertheless is a warm friend of the Congregational church in his town, and contributes to its support.
The moderator and scribe of the association, seated side by side through the meetings, presented a striking contrast. The first was a business man, born in New England, quick, keen, decisive and energetic, an officer in the Union army through the war, since that time engaged in business in Texas, now the possessor of a large fortune, and thoroughly identified with, and enthusiastic concerning, the material and spiritual interests of his adopted State.
The second was the pastor of the leading Congregational Church of the State, born in the South, educated for the law, a soldier in the Confederate army, for a time almost a wreck morally and physically, but now, by the grace of God, "clothed and in his right mind," dignified, magnetic, an earnest, reverent student of the Bible, an able preacher and a beloved pastor.
Thus, with representatives of the North and the South, the East and the West, the white race and the black, America, Sweden and Ireland, we had at least one marked feature of the Pentecost. But aside from that, the manifest presence of the Spirit, and the consequent harmony and good-fellowship, rendered our meeting in a still more important degree like that season which was the beginning of such a wonderful regeneration in the history of the world. It may be accepted, I doubt not, as one of the signs of the regeneration that is going on in the South, which is less wonderful only in the fact of being local rather than world-wide.
THE OLD COMMISSARY BUILDING.
We held a series of revival meetings at South Williamsburgh, in the old commissary building. Wish some of the good people of the North, who meet in churches and chapels, plastered and nicely warmed, and comfortably seated, could have dropped in upon us and spent an hour. Of course, they would have had the back-ache and cold feet, and, perhaps, carried away a flea or two, even in March, but they would have gone home saying, "If people can meet in such a place, some refined, intelligent ladies even, and continue to go night after night, I ought to be very, very willing to go to my church whenever the Lord calls a meeting and my presence and voice are necessary." But that you may appreciate the contrast with your pleasant place of meeting, let me take you to the old commissary building.
It's a box-house; that is, it's made of boards set upright and nailed at the bottom and middle and top to joists. Over this crazy structure sets a roof made of long oaken shingles hewn with the broad axe. Step inside of the building, which will hold 125 people, and see the whole construction. Rough boards with the curve of the circular saw on them and now dingy with smoke, make the sides; oaken shingles black with smoke, slope above.
A "cannon stove" sends most of its smoke through a rusty pipe up through a piece of sheet iron to the air. The sparks, and now and then a star, shine through about the pipe. Newspapers pasted over the widest cracks on the sides of the room keep out the heaviest drafts. I remember one night when it was snowing (even here, in March), a flurry of wind brought down a glistening shower on the shoulders of the congregation. The roof usually turns water, however.
Please stand here by the door and talk to the people. Feet get cold? I don't wonder. The door was made an inch and a half too short. You ask "why in the name of health don't you fix it?" Well, just sit there against the wall. You sit down, and a projecting horizontal joist takes you right in the back of the neck and makes you crane your head forward in a most uncomfortable way. Poor place to get asleep; one would pitch right forward on the floor. You see, if we commenced to "fix up," we wouldn't know where to begin, for one lack is as great as another. One night we held a meeting in that building, and before morning the thermometer fell to zero. We need a good stove; that one is full of cracks in front, so we always left a boy to watch after meeting till the fire died out. We just make the house do; strips have been laid on the floor, paper pasted over the wall gaps, seats of rough boards set in the building, windows tightened, and there we gathered. God's Spirit met us in spite of cold and dinginess and needs. I believe ten or twelve rose for prayers during those two weeks. Since warm weather Brother Myers has continued the meetings, and I trust a score or more have given their hearts to the Lord.