Let me tell you of one to whom sleep did not come. That was the one who but half an hour before had believed herself face to face with death! What mattered it to her that it was a mistake, and death no nearer to her, so far as she knew, than to the rest of the sleeping world?
Death was not annihilated—he was only held at bay. She knew that hewouldcome, and that there would be no slipping away when his hand actually grasped hers. She believed in death; she had supposed herself being drawn into his remorseless grasp. To her the experience, so far as it had led her, was just as real as though there had been no mistake.
And the result?She had been afraid! All her proper resolutions, so fresh in her mind, made only that very afternoon, had been of no more help to her than so much foam. She had not so much as remembered in her hour of terror whether therewasa church to join. But that there was a God, and a judgment, and a Savior, who was not hers, had been as real and vivid as she thinks it ever can be, even when she stands on the very brink.
Oh, that long night of agony! when she tossed and turned and sought in vain for an hour of rest. She was afraid to sleep. How like death this sleeping was! Who could know, when they gave themselves up to the grasp of this power, that he was not the very death angel himself in disguise, and would give them no earthly awakening forever?
What should she do? Believe in religion? Yes. She knew it was true. What then? What had Marion said? Was that all true? Aye, verily it was; she knew that, too. Had she not stood side by side with death?
The hours went by and the conflict went on. There was a conflict. Her conscience knew much more than her tongue had given it credit for knowing that afternoon. Oh, she had seen Christians who had done more than join the church! She had imagined that that act might have a mysterious and gradual change on her tastes and feelings, so that some time in her life, when she was old, and the seasons for her were over, she might feel differently about a good many things.
But that hour of waiting for the messenger of death, who, she thought, had called her, had swept away this film. "It is not teaching in Sunday-school," said her brain. "It is not tract distributing; it is not sewing societies for the poor; it is not giving or going. It isnoneof these things, oranyof them, orallof them, as the case may be, and as they come afterward. Butfirstit is this question: Am I my own mistress? do I belong to myself or to God? will I do as I please or as he pleases? will I submit my soul to him, and ask him to keep it and to show me what to do, or when and where to step?"
The night was utterly spent, and the gray dawn of the early sweet summer morning was breaking into the grove, and still Ruth lay with wide-open eyes, and thought. A struggle? Oh dear, yes! Such an one as she had never imagined. That strong will of hers, which had led not only herself but others, yield it, submit to other leadership, always to question: Is this right? can I go here? ought I to say that? What a thing to do! But it involved that; she knew it, felt it. She might have been blind during the week past, but she was not deaf.
How they surged over her, the sentences from one and another to whom she had listened! They were not at play, these great men. What did it mean but that there was a life hidden away, belonging to Christ? She felt no love in her heart, no longing for love, such as poor little Flossy had yearned for. She felt instead that she was equal to life; that the world was sufficient for her; that she wanted the world; but that the world was at conflict with God, and that she belonged to God, and that sheshouldgive herself utterly into his hands.
Moreover, she knew there was coming a time when the world, and Saratoga, and the season, with its pleasures, would not do. There was grim death!—he would come. She could not always get away. He was coming every hour for somebody around her. She must—yes, shemustget ready for him. It would not do to be surprised again as she had been surprised last night. It was not becoming in Ruth Erskine to live so that the sound of death could palsy her limbs and blanch her cheek and make her shudder with fear. She must get where she could say calmly: "Oh, areyouhere? Well, I am ready."
It was just as the sun which was rising in glory forced its smiles in between the thick leaves of the Chautauqua birds' nests, and set all the little birds in a twitter of delight, that Ruth raised herself on her elbow and said aloud, and with the force that comes from a determined will that has decided something in which there has been a struggle:
"Iwilldo it."
"What about Saratoga?" was Eurie's first query as she awoke to life and talk again on that summer morning. "Do you think you will take the 10:50 train, Ruth?"
Ruth gave nothing more decided than a wan smile in answer, and in her heart a wonder as to what Eurie would think of her if she could have known the way in which her night was passed.
"She is more likely to stay in bed," Marion said, looking at her critically. "You will never think of trying to travel to-day, will you, Ruth? Dear me! how you look! I have always heard that hair oil was weakening, but I did not know its effects were so sudden and disastrous!" And then every one of these silly girls laughed. The disaster of the night before had reached its irresistibly comic side—to them. Only Ruth shivered visibly; it was not funny to her.
It was a very eventful day. She by no means relished the character of invalid that the girls seemed determined ought to be forced upon her and at the same time she had not the least idea of going to Saratoga. Strangely enough, that desire seemed to have utterly gone from her. She had not slept at all, but she arose and dressed herself as usual, with only one feeling strong upon her, and that was a determination to carry out the decision to which she had so recently come, and she had not the least idea how to set to work to carry it out. She went with the rest to the large tent to hear Mrs. Clark's address to primary class teachers.
"I'm not a primary class teacher, and not likely to be, but I am a woman, and gifted with the natural curiosity of that sex to know what a woman may have to say in so big a place as this. I don't see how she dares to peep." This was Eurie's explanation of her desire to go to the reception.
Ruth went because to go to meeting seemed to be the wisest way that she knew of for carrying out her decision, and a good time she had. She had not imagined that teaching primary classes was such an art, and involved so much time and brain as it did. She listened eagerly to all Mrs. Clark had to say; she followed her through the blackboard lessons with surprise and delight, and she awoke at the close of the hour to the memory that, although she had been interested as she had not imagined it possible for her to be on such a theme, she had done nothing toward her determination to make a Christian of herself, and that she knew no more how to go to work than before.
"When Idofind out how to be one I know I will go to work in the Sabbath-school; I have changed my mind on that point." This she told herself softly as they went back to dinner.
It was a strange afternoon to her. She became unable to interest herself heartily in the public services; her own heart claimed her thought. It was noticeable also that for the first time Chautauqua chose this day in which to be metaphysical and scientific, to the exclusion of personal religion. Not that they were irreligious, not that they for a moment forgot their position as a great religious gathering; but there was an absence of that intense personal element in the talk which had so offended Ruth's taste heretofore, and she missed it.
She wandered aimlessly up and down the aisles, listening to sentences now and then, and sighing a little. They were eloquent, they were helpful; she could imagine herself as being in a state to enjoy them heartily, but just now she wanted nothing so much as to know what to do in order to give herself a right to membership with that great religious world. Why should Chautauqua suddenly desert her now when she so much needed its help?
"If I knew a single one of these Christian people I would certainly ask them what to do." This she said talking still to herself. She had come quite away from the meeting, and was down in one of the rustic seats by the lake side. It struck her as very strange that she had not intimate acquaintance with a single Christian. She even traveled home and tried to imagine herself in conversation on this subject with some of her friends. To whom could she go? Mr. Wayne? Why, he wouldn't understand her in the least. What a strange letter that was which she wrote him! Could it be possible that it was written only yesterday? How strange that she should have suggested to him to unite with the church! How strange that she should have thought of it herself!
There came a quick step behind her, and a voice said, "Good-evening, Miss Erskine." She turned and tried to recall the name that belonged to the face of the young man before her.
"You do not remember me?" he said, inquiringly. "I was of the party who went to Jamestown on the excursion."
"Oh, Mr. Flint," she said, smiling, and holding out her hand. "I beg pardon for forgetting; that seems about a month ago."
"So it does to me; we live fast here. Miss Erskine, I have been looking for your party; I couldn't find them. Isn't Miss Shipley in your tent? Yes, I thought so. Well, I want to see her very much. I have something to tell her that I know will give her pleasure. Perhaps you would take a message for me. I want her to know that since last week, when she told me of her Friend who had become so dear to her, I have found the truth of it. He is my Friend now, and I want to thank her for so impressing me with a desire to know him that I could not give it up."
Ruth looked utterly puzzled. Something in the young man's reverent tone,when he used the word "Friend," suggested that he could mean only theFriend for whom she herself was in looking; and yet—Flossy Shipley!What hadsheto do with him?
"Do you mean," she said, hesitatingly, and yet eagerly, for if he indeed meant that here was one for whom she had been looking; "do you mean that you have become a Christian?"
"It is such a new experience," he said, his face flushing, "that I have hardly dared to call myself by that name; but if to be a Christian means to love the Lord Jesus Christ, and to have given one's self, body and soul, to his service, why then I am assuredly a Christian."
This was it. There was no time to be lost. She had spent one night of horror, she could not endure another, and the day was drawing to its end. To be sure she felt no terror now, but the night might bring it back.
"How did you do it?" she asked, simply. "How?" The very simplicity of the question puzzled him. "Why, I just gave myself up to his keeping; I resolved to take a new road and follow only where he led. Miss Shipley was the one who first made me think seriously about this matter; and then I went to the service that evening, and everything that was said and sung, was said and sung right at me. I was just forced into the belief that I had been a fool, and I wanted to be something else."
"Miss Shipley!" Ruth said, brought back by that name to the wonderment. "You are mistaken. You can not mean Flossy. She isn't a Christian at all. She never so much as thinks of such things."
"Oh,youare mistaken." He said it eagerly and positively. "On the contrary, she is the most earnest and straightforward little Christian that I ever met in my life. Why, I never had anything so come to my soul as that little sentence that she said about having found aFriend.' I know it is the same one. I have seen her with you since, but not near enough to address. Her name is Flossy; I heard her called so that day on the boat."
"Flossy!" Ruth said it again, in a bewildering tone, and rising as she spoke. "I am going to find her; I want to understand this mystery. I will give her your message, Mr. Flint, but I think there is a mistake." Saying which she bade him a hasty good-afternoon, for the flutter of a scarlet shawl had reached her eyes. No one but Flossy wore such a wrap as that. She wanted to see her at once, and shedidn'twant Mr. Charlie Flint to be along. She went forward with rapid steps to meet her, and slipping an arm within hers, they turned and went slowly back over the mossy path.
"Flossy, I want you to tell me something. I have heard something so strange; I think it is not so, but you can tell me. I want to know if you think you are a Christian?"
I wonder if Flossy has any idea, even now, how strangely Ruth's heart beat as she asked that simple question. It seemed to involve a great deal to her. She waited for the answer.
There was no hesitation and no indecision about Flossy's answer. Her cheeks took a pink tint, but her voice was clear.
"IknowI am, Ruth. I do not even have to speak with hesitancy. I am so sure that Christ is my Friend, and I grow so much surer of it every day, that I can not doubt it any more than I can doubt that I am walking down this path with you."
And then, again, Ruth's astonishment was in part lost in that absorbing question:
"How did you get to be one?"
"It is a simple little story," Flossy said. And then she began at the beginning and told her little bit of experience, fresh in her heart, dating only a few days back, and full to the brim with peace and gladness to her.
"But I don't see," Ruth said, perplexed. "I don't find out what todo. I want to be told how to do it, and none of you tell me; you seem to have just resolved about it, and notdoneanything. I have gone so far myself. Such a night as last night was, Flossy! Oh, you can never imagine it!"
And then she told her story, as much of it ascouldbe told; of the horror and the thick darkness that had enveloped her she could only hint.
What an eager flash there was in Flossy's bright eyes as she listened.
"When you said that!" she began, eagerly, as Ruth paused. "When you said, 'I will do it.' What then? Did you feel just as you did before?"
"No," Ruth said, "not at all. The night had gone by that time. As I looked about me I realized that it was daylight, and I fancied that my feelings were the result of a highly excited state of nerves. But the resolve was not to be accounted for in any such way. I meant that. The horror, though, of which I had been telling you was quite gone. It was as if there had been a fearful storm, with the constant roll of thunder, and suddenly a calm. I hadn't the least feeling of fear or dread, and I haven't had all day; but to-night I may have the very same experience."
"No, you will not," Flossy said, her voice aglow with feeling and with joy. "Oh, Ruthie, Ruthie! Thereisno night! You have got beyond it. I tell you, you have come into God's light! And isn't it blessed? You are a Christian now."
"But," protested Ruth, utterly bewildered, "I do not understand you, and I don't think you understand yourself. In what way am I different from what I was yesterday? How can I be lost in God's sight one moment and accepted the next?"
"Easily; oh,soeasily! Don't you see? Why, if I had been coaxing you for a year to give me something, and you had steadily refused, but if suddenly you had said to me, 'Yes. I will; I have changed my mind; I will give it to you,' wouldn't there be a difference? Wouldn't I know that I was to have it? And couldn't I thank you then, and tell you how glad I was, just the same as though I had it in my hand? It is a poor little illustration, Ruthie, but it is true that God has been calling you all your life, and if you have all the time been saying 'No,' up to that moment when you said solemnly, meaning it with all your heart, 'I will,' I tell you it makes a difference."
I can not describe to you how strangely all this sounded to Ruthie. Up to this moment she had not realized in the least that the Lord was asking her simply for a decision, and that having solemnly given it, the work, so far asshewas concerned, was done, and the new relations instantly commenced. She thought it over—that sudden calming of heart—that sense of resolve—of determination, so strong, and yet so quiet. She remembered what a strange day it had been. How she had tried to keep before her mind the horror of the night, and had not been able.
She went on talking with Flossy, telling her about Charlie Flint, noticing the happy tears that glistened in Flossy's eyes as she received her message, taking in the murmured words, "To think that Christ would honor such a feeble little witnessing as that!" and realizing even then that it would be very blessed to have one say to her, "You have been the means of leading me to think about this thing." Why shouldshecare, though, whether people thought about this thing or not? Yesterday she didn't. During all the talk she kept up this little undertone of thought, this running commentary on her sudden change of views and feelings, and wondered, andwondered, could it be possible that she was utterly changed? And yet, when she came to think of it, wasn't she? Didn't she love Christ? And then it struck her as the strangest thing in the worldnotto love him. How could any one be so devoid of heart as that? Why, a mere man, to have done one-half of what Christ had done for her, would have received undying love and service.
As they walked they neared the stand, and there came just at that moment a burst of music, one of those strange, thrilling tunes such as none but the African race ever sing. The words were familiar, and yet to Ruth they were new:
"There is a fountain filled with blood,Drawn from Immanuel's veins,And sinners, plunged beneath that flood.Lose all their guilty stains."
A sinner! Wasshe, Ruth Erskine, a sinner? Yesterday she had not liked it to be called a prodigal. But to-day, oh yes. Was there a greater sinner to be found than she? How long she had known this story! How long she had known and believed of a certainty that Jesus Christ lived and died that she might have salvation, and yet she had never in her life thanked him for it! Nay, she had spurned and scorned his gift! So much worse than though she had not believed it at all! For then at least she could not have been said to have met him with the insult of indifference.
Then the chorus swelled out on the still air. Only those who heard it under the trees at Chautauqua have the least idea how it sounded; only those who hear it, as Ruth Erskine did, can have the least idea how it sounded to her.
"I've been redeemed, I've been redeemed!"
Over and over the strain repeated. Now in clear soprano tones, and anon rolled out from the grand bass voices. And then the swelling unison:
"I've been redeemed—Been washed in the blood of the Lamb."
The girls had stopped, and almost held their breaths to listen. They stood in silence while verse after verse with its triumphant swell of chorus rolled out to them. The great tears gathered slowly in Ruth's eyes, until, as the last echo died away, she turned to Flossy, and her voice was clear and triumphant:
"I believe Ihave. Flossy, I believe I have. It is a glorious thought, and a wonderful one. It almost frightens me. And yet it thrills me with perfect delight. The fountain is deep enough for us all—for them and for me. I have 'been redeemed,' and if God will help me I will never forget it again."
By the next morning it became clear to our girls that a change of programme was a necessity. Ruth had by no means recovered from her shock and the sleepless night that followed, and some of the comforts of invalidism must be found for her. At the same time she utterly repudiated the idea of Saratoga, which was now urged upon her; it had lost its charms; neither would she go home.
"I have decided to stay until theverylast meeting," she said, with quiet determination.
Flossy laughed softly; she knew what charms Chautauqua had taken on, but the others supposed it to be a whim, resulting from the ridicule she had suffered because of the Saratoga scheme.
After many plans were discussed it was finally decided that Flossy and Ruth should seek quarters at the hotel in Mayville, Ruth coming over to the meetings only when her strength and her fancy dictated, and having some of the luxuries of home about her. It seemed to fall naturally to Flossy's lot to accompany her; indeed, a barrier was in the way of either of the others being chosen. The hotel arrangement, when one took into consideration the numerous boat-rides to and from the ground, was by no means an economical proceeding, and as Flossy and Ruth were the only ones who were entirely indifferent to the demands of their purses, it must of necessity be them.
Neither of them was disposed to demur; there had never been much congeniality between these two, but they had been friendly, and now there was a subtle bond of sympathy which made them long to be together. So, during the next morning hours, those two were engaged in packing their effects and preparing for a flitting to the Mayville House. Meantime Marion and Eurie, having stood around and looked on until they were tired, departed in search of something to interest them.
"It is too early for meeting," Marion said. "There is nothing of interest until 11 o'clock. I'm sorry we missed Mrs. Clark. I like to look at her and listen to her; she is just bubbling over with enthusiasm. One can see that she thinks she means it. If I were a Sunday-school teacher I should be glad I was here, to hear her. I think it has been about the most helpful thing I have heard thus far; helpful to those who indulge in that sort of work, I mean."
"I wonder what those normal classes are like?" Eurie said, studying her programme. "We haven't been to one of those, have we? What do you suppose they do?"
Marion shrugged her shoulders.
"They are like work," she said. "'Working hours,' they are named; and I suppose some hard thinking is done. If I didn't have to teach school six hours out of every day at home I might be tempted to go in and listen to them; but I came here to play, you see, and to make money; they are not good to report about. People who stay at home and read the reported letters don't want to hear anything about the actualwork; they want to know who the speaker was and how he looked, and whether his gestures were graceful, and—if it is a lady—above all, how she was dressed; if they say anything remarkably sarcastic or irresistibly funny you may venture to report it, but not otherwise, consequently reporting is easy work, if you have not too much conscience, because what you didn't see you can make up."
At the end of this harangue she paused suddenly before a tent, whence came the sound of a firm and distinct voice.
"What is this?" she said, and then she lifted a bit of the canvas and peeped in. "I'm going in here, after all," she said, withdrawing her head and explaining. "This is a normal class, I guess. That man from Philadelphia—what is his name? Tyler? Yes, that is it—J. Bennet Tyler—is leading. I like him; I like his voice ever so much; he makes you hear, whether you want to or not. Then, someway, you get a kind of a notion that he not only believes what he says but that heknowsit is so, and that is all there is about it. I like to meet such people now and then, because they are so rare. Generally people act as though you could coax them out of their notions in about twenty minutes if you tried—when they are talking about religious subjects, I mean. Obstinacy is not so rare a trait where other matters are concerned. Let's go in."
"What is the subject this morning?" Eurie asked, following her guide around to the entrance, somewhat reluctantly. She was in no mood for shutting herself inside a tent, and being obliged to listen whether she wanted to or not. But Marion was in one of her positive moods this morning, and must either be followed or deserted altogether.
Mr. Tyler was reading from a slip of paper as they entered. This was the sentence he read:
"Difficulties in interpretation which arise from certain mental peculiarities of the student. Some minds, and not by any means the strongest or noblest, must always see thereasonfor everything."
Marion gave Eurie a sagacious nod of the head.
"Don't you see?" she said. "Now, by the peculiar way in which he read that, he made believe it wasmehe meant. And, by the way, I'm not sure but he is correct. I must say that I like a reason for things. But what right has he to say thatthatis an indication of a weak mind?"
"He didn't say so," whispered Eurie.
"Oh, yes he did; it amounted to that. There is where his peculiar use of words comes in. That man hasstudiedwords until he handles them as if they were foot-balls, and were to go exactly where he sent them."
"He is looking this way. The next thing you know he will throw some at us for whispering."
This was Ernie's attempt to quiet Marion's tongue. That or some other influence had the desired effect. She whispered no more, and it was apparent in a very few minutes that she had become intensely interested in the theme and in the way it was being handled. An eager examination of the programme disclosed what she began to suspect, that the subject was, "Difficulties in the Bible." Her intellectual knowledge of the Bible was considerable; and having read it ever since she could remember, with the express purpose of finding difficulties, it was not surprising that she had found them.
Something, either in the leader's manner of drawing out answers, or the peculiar emphasis with which he contrived to invest certain words, had the effect to cause Marion to feel as though she had been very superficial in her reasoning and childish in her objections. She grew eager; her brain, accustomed to work rapidly and follow trains of thought closely, enjoyed the keen play of thought that was being drawn forth.
But there was more than that; almost unconsciously to herself this subject was assuming vital proportions to her; she did not even herself realize the intensity of the cry in her heart, "If I onlyknewwhether these were so!" Presently the voice which had once before struck her as being so peculiar in its personality sounded distinctly down the long tent.
"Remember the conditions under which the Bible promise clear apprehension of the truth."
It chanced—at least that is the way in which we use language—it chanced that Mr. Tyler's eyes as he repeated these words rested on Marion. Speaking of it afterward she said:
"So far as the impression made on me was concerned, it was the same as though he had said: 'Do you understand what an idiot you have been not to take that cardinal point into consideration at all? Open your Bible and read, and see how like a weak-minded babe you are.'"
Beside her lay a Bible just dropped by some one who had been called out. Following out the impulse of the moment she turned to the reference, and her clear voice gave it distinctly:
"If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine whether it be of God or whether I speak of myself."
The effect of this simple, straightforward and reasonable proposition, on sounding back to her spoken by her own voice, was tremendous. Very little more of the talk did she hear. A thrust, from God's own sword had reached her. What a fool she had been! What right had she to presume to give an opinion before applying the test? Had not the most common-place statements a right to be tried by their own tests? Yet she had never given this simple direction a thought.
So this was the Bible promise? "Heshallknow." Not that these things are so, but a more logical, more satisfactory statement to the natural heart. He shall judge for himself whether these things be so; follow the directions, and then judge by your experiences after that whether these things be true or false. Could anything be more reasonable?
"I shall never dare to say that I don't believe the Bible again, for fear some one will ask me whether I have applied the test, and if I have not what business have I to judge. That man now, if I should come in contact with him, which I shall endeavor not to do, would be sure to ask me. He has almost the same as asked it now, before all these people. He has a mysterious way of making me feel as though he was talking for my confusion and for nobody else."
This Marion told to herself as she eyed the leader, half sullenly. He had strangely disturbed her logic and set her refuge in ruins.
"Let's go," she said suddenly to Eurie. "I am tired of this; I have had enough, and more than enough." But the hour was over, and she had had all that was to be secured from that source.
All the younger portion of the congregation seemed to be rushing back up the hill again, and inquiry developed the fact that Mrs. Clark was to meet the primary workers in the large tent. It was wonderful how many people chose to consider themselves primary workers? At least they rushed to this meeting, a great army of them, as though their one object in life, was to learn how successfully to teach the little ones. Our girls all met together in the tent. Ruth and Flossy had finished their preparations, but had concluded to wait until afternoon service.
"I declare ifyouare not armed with a pencil and paper. Have you been seized with a mania for taking notes?" This Eurie said to Ruth. "Now I'm going to get outmynote book too. Here is a card—it will hold all I care to write I dare say. Let me see, who knows but I shall go to teaching in Sabbath-school one of these days! I am going to make a list of the things which according to Mrs. Clark, we shall need."
True to her new fancy, she scribbled industriously during the session, and showed her card with glee as they left the tent.
"I've a complete list," she said. "If any of you go into the business I can supply you with the names of the necessary tools. Look!
"A blackboard.
"A picture roll.
"A punch!
"Cards.
"Brains!
"Blank book.
"Children.
"More brains!
"That last item," she said, reflectively, "is the hardest to find. I had no idea so much of that material was necessary. Now let me see what is on your papers." This even Marion stoutly resisted. And Flossy quietly hid hers in her pocket, saying with a smile:
"Mine is simply a list of things needful for such work."
If she had shown her paper it would have astonished Eurie, and it might have done her good. This was what she had written:
"What I need in order to be a successful teacher.
"Such a forgetfulness of self as shall lead me to think only of the little ones and their needs.
"Such a love for Christ as shall lead me to long after every little soul to lead it to him."
As for Marion her paper contained simply this sentence, carefully written out in German text as if she had deliberated over each letter;
"If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God."
They went in a body to hear Dr. Hatfield.
"I want that lecture," Marion said, "'Perils of the Hour.' I'm very anxious to know what my peril is. I know just what is hovering over every one of you, but I can't quite make up my mind as to my own state. Perhaps the distinguished gentleman can help me."
And he did. He had selected for one of the perils that which was embodied in the following ringing sentence:
"The third peril is the prevelancy of skepticism. A class of scientists have discovered that there is no God! What the fool said in hisheartthey proclaimed on the house-top!"
Eurie looked over at her, smiling and mischievous, and said in anything but a softly whisper, "That means you, my dear."
But Marion did not hear her; she was absorbed in the intense scathing sentences that followed. Of one thing she presently felt assured, that whoever was right or whoever was wrong in this matter, Dr. Hatfield believed with all the intensity of an intense educated intellect that God ruled. Was it probable that he had met the condition, done his will, and soknewof the doctrine? That was an hour to be remembered. Eurie ceased to whisper or to frolic; there was too much intensity, about the speaker's manner not to claim her attention. She listened as she was not in the habit of listening. She could give you a detailed account even now of that hour of thought; so could I, and I am awfully tempted; but, you see, it is only Tuesday, and the girls have six more days to spend at Chautauqua.
Both Ruth and Flossy got their crumb to think over. They discussed it at the hotel that evening.
"I tell you, Flossy, if Dr. Hatfield is correct you and I have tremendous changes to make in our way of spending the Sabbath; and I have actually prided myself on the way in which I respected the day!"
And Ruth laughed as if that were so strange a thought, now that it was hardly possible to think that she could have entertained it.
"I know," Flossy said; "and he can not but be right, for he proved his position. I am glad I heard that address. But for him, I know I should never have thought of my influence in some places where I now see I can use it. Ruth you will be struck with one thing. Now, Chautauqua is like what Madame C's school might have been, so far as study is concerned. Every day I have a new lesson, one that startles me so! I feel that there must be some mistake, or I would have heard of or thought of some of these things before. And yet they sound so reasonable when you come to think them over, that presently I am surprised that I have not felt them before. Ruthie, do you think Eurie and Marion have any interest at all?"
"No," said Ruth, positively, "I know Marion hasn't. It was only the other evening that she talked more wildly if anything than before."
About this time Marion, alone in her tent, said again, as she had said a dozen times during the last few days: "If Ionly knew!" And this time she added, "If I only knewhowto know!"
Now, see here, Marion Wilbur, wake up and give me your attention. I want to make a speech; I've caught the infection. It's queer in a place where there is so much speech-making done that I can't have a chance to express my views."
"I'm all attention," Marion answered, turning on her pillow, and giving Eurie a sleepy stare. "What has moved you to be eloquent? Give me the subject."
"The subject is the reflex influence of preaching! It may have different effects on different natures. Its effect on mine has been marked enough. I'm thoroughly surfeited. I don't want to hear another sermon while I am here, and I don'tmeanto. They are all sermons. The subject may be scientific, literary or artistic, and it amounts to the same thing; they contrive to row around to the same spot from whatever point they start. Now, I came here for fun, and I'm being literally cheated out of it. So the application of my remark is, I've learned since I have been here always to have an application to everything, and this time it is that I won't go any more. I've studied the programme carefully, and I have selected just what I am going to do. That Mrs. Knox has a reception this morning. I've heard about her before; she is awfully in earnest, and awfully good. Oh, I haven't the least doubt of it; but, you see, I don't want to be good, nor to have such an uncomfortable amount of goodness about me."
"She is said to be one of the most successful Sabbath-school teachers here; and I heard a gentleman say last night that her primary class was a regular training school for young ladies in Christian work. You know she has ever so many teachers under her."
"I can't help that. I am not one of them, I am thankful to say. What do I care whether she is successful or not? That won't help me any. I know all about her. They say the young ladies in her classes are invariably converted before they have been under her influence long. So if you want to be converted you have only to go to Elmira and join her class; but as for me, I am not in the mood for that experience yet, and I am not going near her."
"Whatareyou going to do then?"
"Just what I please! That is what I came for. Just think of the absurdity of we four girls rushing to meeting at the rate we have been doing for the last week. What do you suppose the people at home would think of us? Why, I didn't expect to hear any of their sermons when I came. I as good as promised Flossy that I would frolic about with her all the time, and now the absurd little dunce acts as if she were under a wager to be on the ground every time the bell rings! I've declared off. I can tell you to an item just what I am going to hear. There is a performance to come off this afternoon some time that I shall be ready for. I loitered behind the King tent last night, and heard him say so. That Frank Beard is going to give his chalk talk—caricatures: that I shall hear, and especiallysee. It will be hard work to poke a sermon into that. I guess that is to be this afternoon; it is to be some time soon, anyway, and I shall watch for it. Then there is to be another extra. Mrs. Miller is going to read a story. I can give you the title of it. I didn't sit on that horrid stump in the dark listening to Dr. Vincent for nothing. It is to be 'Three Blind Mice.' Now it stands to reason that a story with such a title will not be very far above my intellectual capacity, and itcan'tvery well develop into a sermon, or close with a prayer-meeting. Then I'm going to the concert by the Tennesseeans;' their jargon won't hurt me; and, of course, I shall attend the President's reception. I must have a stare at him—and that is every solitary meeting I am going to attend. I've heard the last preaching that I mean to for some time."
Now this was what Eurie Mitchellsaid. Let me tell you a little bit about what shethought. She was by no means so indifferent, nor so bored as she would have Marion understand. She was by no means in the state of mind that Ruth had been, or that Marion was. No doubts as to the general truth of all the vital doctrines of Christianity had ever troubled her. She accepted without question the belief of the so-called Christian World. Neither was she bewildered as to what constituted Christian life. No vague notion that to unite herself with some church would let her into the charmed circle had ever befogged her brain.
On the contrary, she knew better than many a Christian does just what the Christian profession involved, and just how narrow a path ought to be walked by those professing to follow Christ. In proportion to the keenness of her sarcasm over blundering, stumbling Christians, had her eyes been open to what they ought to be.
There was just this the matter with Eurie. She knew so well what religious professions involved that she wanted to make none. She hated the thought of self-abnegation, of bridling her eager tongue, of going only where her enlightened conscience said a Christian should go, of looking out for and calling after others to go with her. She wished deliberately to ignore it all. Not forever, she would have been shocked at the thought. Some time she meant to give intense heed to these things, and then indeed the church should see what a Christiancouldbe! But not now.
There were a hundred things laid down in her programme for the coming winter that she knew perfectly well were not the things to do or say, provided she were a Christian, and she deliberately wished to avoid the fear of becoming one. Just here she was afraid of the influence of Chautauqua.
How was it possible to attend these meetings, to listen to these daily, hourly addresses, teeming either directly or indirectly with the same thought, personal consecration, without feeling herself drawn within the circle? She wouldnotbe drawn. This was her deliberate conclusion, therefore her determination.
It was almost well for her that she could not realize on what fearfully dangerous ground she was treading! I wonder if those over whom the Lord says, "Let them alone," are ever conscious at the time that the order has gone forth, and that they are to feel their consciences pressing home this matter no more?
"Well," said Marion, after turning this resolution over in her mind for a few minutes, "I dare say you will lose a good many things worth hearing; but I have nothing to do with that—only I want you to go with me up to hear Mrs. Knox this morning. I'vegotto go, for I promised especially to report her for the teachers at home, and it is stupid to go alone.Shewon't preach, and she won't bore you, and I want you to help me remember items."
So, much against her will, Eurie was coaxed into this departure from her programme, and came back from the meeting in intense disgust.
"Talk abouthernot preaching," she said, venting her annoyance on Marion while she energetically brushed her hair. "Every fold of her dress preached a sermon! She makes me ache all over, she is so powerfully in earnest; and didn't she hint what angels of goodness those girls of hers were—those teachers! I'd like to know how they could be anything else but good with such an example at hand. Just think, Marion, of having the brains that that woman has, and the energy and tact and the skill of a general, and then forcing it into a Sunday-school class room for the teaching of a hundred little dots that have just tumbled out of their cradles!"
"Well, if she teaches them to tumble out on the right side so that they will come up grand men and women, what then? Isn't that an ambition worthy of her?"
"Stuff and nonsense! Don't you go to preaching. I shall go and drown myself in the lake if I hear any more of it, and then one worthless person will be out of the way. But don't you dare to ask me to go and hear that woman again! I won't give up my plans in life for hers, and she needn't hint it to me. And, Marion Wilbur, I am not going to listen to another man or woman who has the least chance to fire words right at me—now mark my words."
Full of this determination she carried it out during the afternoon, until the hour for Frank Beard's caricatures; then, secure from fear of a sermon, she came gayly down and considered herself fortunate to secure a seat directly in front of the stand and in full view of the blackboard. If you have never seen Frank Beard make pictures you know nothing about what a good time she had. They were such funny pictures! —just a few strokes of the magic crayon and the character described would seem to start into life before you, and you would feel that you could almost know what thoughts were passing in the heart of the creature made of chalk. Eurie looked, and listened, and laughed. The old deacon who thought the Sunday-school was being glorified too much had his exact counterpart among her acquaintances, so far as his looks were concerned. The three troublesome Sunday-school scholars fairly convulsed her by their life-like appearance. There was the little scamp of a boy who was revealed by the dozen to any one who took a walk down town toward the close of the day; the argumentative old man, with his nose pointing out a flaw in your reasoning or on the keen scent for a mistake; and the pert fourteen-year-old girl whose very nose, as it slightly turned upward, showed that she knew more than all the logicians and theologians in the world.
This entertainment was exactly in Eurie's line. If there was anything in the world that she was an adept at it was looking up weak points in the characters of other people; and when the silly girl with but two ideas—one of them bows and the other beaux—lived and breathed before her on the blackboard her delight reached its climax.
"She is the very picture of Nettie Arnold!" she whispered to Marion."When I go home I mean to tell her that her photograph was displayed atChautauqua. She is just vain enough to believe it!"
Still the fun went on. Just a few bold, rapid strokes, and some caricature breathed before them, so real that the character was guessed before the explanation was given, and the ground rang with continued and overpowering roars of laughter.
Into the midst of this entertainment came Dr. Vincent, his face aglow with the exertion of hearty laughter, every feature of it expressive of his hearty appreciation of this hour of recreation and yet every feature alive and alert with a higher and more enduring feeling.
"Frank," he said, laying a friendly hand on the artist's arm, "our time is almost up. Give us the symbol of the teacher's work."
There was an instant of rapid motion, a few skillful lines, and it needed no word of explanation to recognize the great family Bible. "Now the symbol of the teacher's hope," and on one page of the open Bible there flashed an anchor.
"Now the symbol of his reward," and lo, there rose up before them the solid wall, built brick by brick. Dr. Vincent's voice was almost husky with feeling, so suddenly had the play of his emotions changed, as he said: "Now we want the foundation."
How did Frank Beard do it with a dull colored crayon and a half-dozen movements of his skillful arm? How can I tell, except that God has given to the arm wondrous skill; but there appeared before that astonished multitude a foundation as of granite, and there rose from it, as if suddenly hewed out before them, a clean-cut solid shaft of gray, imperishable granite. One more dash of the wondrous crayon and the shaft was done—a solid cross!
Prof. Sherwin was sitting, for want of a better position, on the floor of the stand. It was the only available space. He had been looking and enjoying as only men like Prof. Sherwin can; and now, as he watched the outgrowth of this wonderful cross, as the last stroke was given that made it complete, and a sound like a subdued shout of joy and triumph murmured through the crowd, moved as by a sudden mighty impulse that he could not control, his splendid voice burst forth in the glorious words:
"Rock of Ages, cleft for me,Let mehidemyself in Thee."
And that great multitude took it up and rolled the tribute of praise down those resounding aisles until people bowed themselves, and some of them wept softly in the very excess of their joy and thanksgiving. It was all so sudden, so unexpected; yet it was so surely the key-note to the Chautauqua heart, and fitted in so aptly with their professions and intentions. They could play for a few minutes—none could do it with better hearts or more utter enjoyment than these same splendid leaders—but how surely their hearts turned back to the main thought, the main work, the main hope, in life and in death.
As for Eurie, she will not be likely to forget that sermon. It almost overpowered her. There came over her such a sudden and eager longing to understand the depths from whence such feeling sprung, to rest her feet on the same foundation, that for the moment her heart gave a great bound and said: "It is worth all the self-denial and all the change of life and plans which it would involve. I almost think I want that rather than anything else." That miserable "almost!" I wonder how many souls it has shipwrecked? The old story. If Eurie had been familiar with her Bible it would surely have reminded her of the foolish listener who said, while he trembled under the truth, "Almostthou persuadest me to be a Christian."
Shall I tell you what came in, just then and there, to influence her decision? It was such a miserable little thing—nothing more than the remembrance of certain private parties that were a standing institution among "their set" at home, to meet fortnightly in each other's parlors for a social dance. Not a ball! oh, no, not at all. These young ladies did not attendballs, unless occasionally a charity ball, when a very select party was made up. Simply quiet evenings amongspecialfriends, where the special amusement was dancing.
"Dear me!" you say, "I am a Christian, and I don't see anything wrong indancing. Why, I dance at private parties very often. What was there in that thought that needed to influence her?"
Oh, well, we are not arguing, you know. This is simply a record of matters and things as they occurred at Chautauqua. It can hardly be said to be a story, except as records of real lives of course make stories.
But Eurie wasnota Christian, you see; and however foolish it may have been in her she had picked out dancing as one of the amusements not fitting to a Christian profession. It is a queer fact, for the cause of which I do not pretend to account, but if you are curious, and will investigate this subject, you will find that four fifths of the people in this world who are not Christiana have tacitly agreed among themselves that dancing is not an amusement that seems entirely suited to church-members. If you want to get at the reason for this strange prejudice, question some of them. Meantime the fact exists that Eurie felt herself utterly unwilling to give up the leadership of those fortnightly parties, and that the trivial question actually came in then and there, while she stood looking at that picture of the cross; and in proportion as her sudden conviction of desire lost itself in this whirl of intended amusement did her disgust arise at the thought that she had been actually betrayed into listening to another sermon!
Marion went alone to the services the next morning. It was in vain that she assured Eurie that Miss Morris was going to conduct one of the normal classes, and that she had heard her spoken of as unusually sparkling. Eurie shook her head.
"Go and hear her sparkle, then, by all means I won't. Now that's a very inelegant word to use, but it is expressive, and whenIuse it you may know that I mean it; I am tired of the whole story, and I have been cheated times enough. Look at yesterday! It was a dozen prayer-meetings combined. No, I don't get caught this morning."
"But the subject is one that will not admit of sermonizing and prayer-meetings this morning," Marion pleaded; "I am specially interested in it. It is 'How to win and hold attention.' If there is anything earthly that a ward school-teacher needs to know it is those two items. I expect to get practical help."
"You needn't expect anythingearthly; this crowd have nothing to do with matters this side of eternity. As for the subject not admitting of sermonizing, look at the subject of blackboard caricatures. What came of that?"
So she went her way, and Marion, who had seen Miss Morris and had been attracted, looked her up with earnest work in view. She had an ambition to be a power in her school-room. Why should not this subject helpher?
The tent was quite full, but she made her way to a corner and secured a seat. Miss Morris was apparently engaged in introducing herself and apologizing for her subject.
"I tried to beg off," she said; "I told them that the subject and I had nothing in common; that I was a primary class teacher, and in that line lay my work. But there is no sort of use in trying to change Dr. Vincent's mind about anything, so I had to submit. But for once in my life I remind myself of Gough. I once overheard him in conversation with a committee on lectures. They were objecting to having him lecture on temperance, and pressing him to name some other subject. 'Choose what subject you please, gentlemen,' he said at last, 'and I'll lecture on it, but remember what Isaywill be on temperance.' So they have given me this subject and I have engaged to take it, but I want you to remember that what Isaywill be on primary class-teaching."
By this time Miss Morris had the sympathy of her audience, and had awakened an interest to see how she would follow out her programme, and from first to last she held their attention. Certain thoughts glowed vividly. I don't know who else they influenced, but I knew they roused and startled Marion, and will have much to do with her future methods of teaching.
"Remember," said the speaker, "that you can not live on skim-milk and teach cream!" The thought embodied in that brief and telling sentence was as old as time, and Marion had heard it as long ago as she remembered anything, but it never flashed before her until that moment.
What an illustration! She saw herself teaching her class in botany to analyze the flowers, to classify them, to tell every minute item concerning them, and she taught them nothing to say concerning the Creator. Was this "skim-milk" teaching? She knew so many ways in which, did she but have this belief concerning heaven, and Christ, and the judgment, in her heart, she could impress it upon her scholars. She had aimed to be the verycreamof teachers. Was she? She came back from her reverie, or, rather, her self-questioning, to hear Miss Morris say:
"Why, one move of your hand moves all creation! and as surely does one thought of your soul grow and spread and roll through the universe. Why, you can't sit in your room alone, and think a mean thought, or a false thought, or an unchristian thought, without its influencing not only all people around you, not only all people in all the universe, but nations yet unborn must live under the shadow or the glory that the thought involves."
Bold statements these! But Marion could follow her. Intellectually she was thoroughly posted. Had she not herself used the illustration of the tiny stream that simpered through the home meadow and went on, and on, and on, until it helped to surge the beaches of the ocean? But here was a principle involved that reached beyond the ocean, that ignored time, that sought after eternity. Was she following the stream? Could she honestly tell that it might not lead to a judgment that should call her to account for her non-religious influence over her scholars? Marion was growing heavy-hearted; she wanted at least to do no harm in the world if she could do no good. But if all this mountain weight of evidence at Chautauqua proved anything, it proved that she was living a life of infidelity, for the influence of which she was to be called into judgment.
No sort of use to comfort herself with the thought that she talked of her peculiar views to no one; it began to be evident that the things which she didnotdo were more startling than the things which she did.
On the whole, no comfort came to her troubled soul through this morning session. To herself she seemed precisely where she was when she went into that tent, only perhaps a trifle more impressed with the solemnity of all things.
But, without knowing it, a great stride had been taken in her education. She was not again to be able to say: "I injure no one with my belief; I keep it to myself." "No Man liveth to himself."
The verse came solemnly to her as she went out, as though other than human voice were reminding her of it, and life began to feel like an overwhelming responsibility that she could not assume. When one begins tofeelthat thought in all its force the next step is to find one who will assume the responsibility for us. She met Ruth on her way up the hill.
"Flossy has deserted me," Ruth explained as they met; "Eurie carried her away to take a walk. Are you going to hear about John Knox? I am interested in him chiefly because of the voice that is to tell of him to-day; I like Dr. Hurlburt."
Marion's only reply was: "I don't see but you come to meeting quite as regularly, now that you are at the hotel, as you did when on the grounds."
Then they went to secure their seats. I am not to attempt to tell you anything about the John Knox lecture; indeed I have given over telling more about the Chautauqua addresses. It is of no sort of use. One only feels like bemoaning a failure after any attempt to repeat such lectures as we heard there. Besides, I am chiefly interested at present in their effect on our girls.
They listened—these two, and enjoyed as people with brains must necessarily have done. But there was more than that to it; there were consequences that will surely be met again at the last great day.
Ruth, as she walked thoughtfully away, said to herself: "That is the way.Livethe truth. It is a different day, and the trials and experiences are different, butlifemust be the same. It is not the day for half-way Christianity nor for idling; I will be an earnest Christian, or I will not dishonor the name and disgrace the memory of such men as Knox by claiming to be of their faith."
While Marion, as she turned her flushed cheeks hastily away from Ruth, not willing to show one who knew nothing about this matter, save that it was expedient to join a church, had gotten one foot set firmly toward the rock.
"The power that enabledthatman to livethatlife was certainly of God," she thought. "Itmustbe true. God must be in communication with some of the souls that have lived. Is he now, and can I be one of them? Oh, I wonder if there are a favored few who have shone out as grand lights in the world and have gone up from the world to their reward? And I wonder if there is no such thing now? If the blundering creatures who call themselves by his name are nothing but miserable imitations of what wasoncereal?
"Such lives as that one can understand; but how can I ever believe that Deacon Cole's life is molded by the same influence, or, indeed, that mine can be? Must I be a Deacon Cole Christian if I am one at all?"
The afternoon clouded over, and a mincing little rain began to fall.Marion stood in the tent door and grumbled over it.
"I wanted to hear that Mr. Hazard," she said; "I rather fancy his face, and I fancy the name of his subject. I had a curiosity to see what he would do with it, and here is this rain to hinder."
Ruth and Flossy had come over for the day, and were waiting in the tent.
"Haven't you been at Chautauqua long enough to catch one of its cardinal rules, never to stay at home for rain?" Flossy said.
Marion looked around at her. She was putting on her rubbers.
"Are you really going?" She asked the question in great surprise. "Why,Flossy, it is going to rain hard!"
"What of it?" said Flossy, lightly. "I have waterproof, and rubbers, and umbrella, and if it gets to be too wet I can run to a tent."
"If you were at home you wouldn't think of going to church. Why, Flossy Shipley, I never knew you to go out in the rain! I thought you were always afraid you would spoil your clothes."
"That was because I had none already spoiled to wear," Flossy answered, cheerily; "but that difficulty is obviated; I have spoiled two dresses since I have been here. This one now is indifferent to the rain, and will be for the future. I have an improvement on that plan, though; I mean to have a rainy-day dress as soon as I get home. Come, it is time we were off."
"I believe I am a dunce," Marion said, slowly. "I think it is going to rain hard; but as I have to go, at home, whether it rains or shines, I suppose I can do it here. But if this were a congregation of respectable city Christians, instead of a set of lunatics, there wouldn't be a dozen out."
They found hundreds out, however. Indeed, it proved to be difficult to secure seats. That address was heard under difficulties. In the first place itwouldrain; not an out-and-out hearty shower, that would at once set at rest the attempt to hold an out-door meeting, but an exasperating little drizzle, enlivened occasionally by a few smart drops that seemed to hint business. There was a constant putting up of umbrellas and putting them down again. There was a constant fidgeting about, and getting up and sitting down again, to let some of the more nervous ones who had resolved upon a decided rain escape to safer quarters. Half of the people had their heads twisted around to get a peep at the sky, to see what the clouds reallydidmean, anyway.
Our girls had one of the uncomfortable posts. Arrived late, they had to take what they could get, and it was some distance from the speaker, and their sight and sound were so marred by the constant changes and the whirl of umbrellas that Marion presently lost all patience and gave up the attempt to listen. She would have deserted altogether but for the look of eager attention on Flossy's face. Despite the annoyances,shewas evidently hearing and enjoying. It seemed a pity to disturb her and suggest a return to the tent; besides, Marion felt half ashamed to do so.
It was not pleasant to give tacit acknowledgment to the fact that poor little, unintellectual Flossy was much more interested than herself. She gave herself up to an old and favorite employment of hers, that of looking at faces and studying them, when a sudden hush that seemed to be settling over the hither to fidgety audience arrested her attention.
The speaker's voice was full of pathos, and so quiet had the place become that every word of his could be distinctly heard. He was evidently in the midst of a story, the first of which she had not heard. This was the sentence, as her ears took it up:
"Don't cry, father, don't cry! To-night I shall be with Jesus, and I will tell him that you did all you could to bring me there!"
What a tribute for a child to give to a father's love! Flossy, with her cheeks glowing and her eyes shining like stars, quietly wiped away the tears, and in her heart the resolve grew strong to live so that some one, dying, could say of her: "I will tell Jesus that you did all you could to bring me there!"
Do you think that was what the sentence said to Marion? Quick as thought her life flashed back to that old dingy, weather-beaten house, to that pale-faced man, with his patched clothing and his gray hairs straggling over on the coarse pillow.Herfather, dying—her one friend, who had been her memory of love and care all these long years, dying—and these were the last words his lips had said:
"Don't cry, little girl—father's dear little girl. I am going to Jesus. I shall be there in a little while. I shall tell him that I tried to have you come!"
Oh, blessed father! How hard he had tried in his feebleness and weakness to teach her the way! How sure he had seemed to feel that she would follow him! And how had she wandered! How far away she was! Oh, blessed Spirit of God, to seek after her all these years, through all the weak and foolish mazes of doubt, and indifference, and declared unbelief—still coming with her down to this afternoon at Chautauqua, and there renewing to her her father's parting word.
She had often and often thought of these words of her father's. In a sense, they had been ever present with her. Just why they should come at this time, bringing such a sense of certainty about them to her very soul that all this was truth, God's solemn,real, unchangeable truth, and force this conviction upon her in such a way that she was moved to say, "Whereas Iwasblind, now I see," I can not tell.
Why Mr. Hazard was used as the instrument of such a revelation of God to her I can not tell. Perhaps he had prayed that his work at Chautauqua that rainy afternoon might, in some way, be blessed to the help of some struggling soul. Perhaps this was the answer to his prayer—unheard, unseen by him, as many an answer to our pleading is, and yet the answer as surely comes. Who can tell how this may be. I do not know. I know this, that Marion's heart gave a great sobbing cry, as it said:
"Oh, father, father! if your God, if your Christ, will help me, I will—I willtryto come."
It was her way of repeating the old cry, "Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief." And I do know that it is written, "Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors; and their works do follow them." It was fifteen years that the weary father had been resting from his labors, and here were his works following him.
I have heard that Mr. Hazard said, as he folded his papers and came down from the stand that afternoon, "It was useless to try to talk in such a rain, with the prospect of more every minute. The people could not listen. It would have been better to have adjourned. Nothing was accomplished." Muchheknew about it, or will know until the day when the secrets of all hearts shall be revealed!