For John's Sake Part 13

"Nay, Jane, didn't preacher saay t' other neet from t' Book: 'If t' reet haand offeend thee, cut un off'? ay, and aw foound un, and reead un mysen when aw coomed hoom, and it's no mistaake, la.s.s," said Mrs.

Ibbetson eagerly.

"But thee hast maade an awfu' mistaake, Saarah Ann; t' wooards be there, sure enoogh, but they doan't mean fowks mun goo cuttin' and hackin' at their own flesh. T' blessed Looard were poonished for t' sin o' t'

world, and we've no reet ter be thinkin' we mun poonish oursen for our fro'ard waays."

Puzzled and dumbfounded, poor Sarah Ann looked at her visitor for a while, and then asked despondingly:

"And what do yond woords mean, Jane?"

"Aw'll mak' it plaain ter thee, Saarah Ann; see here! t' knows t' good o' t' reet haand; thee never puts t' left ter aught if t' reet 'll do t'

wooark, and t' Looard knows there be many a sin 'at's loike t' reet haand ter His fouks, and there's many a fouk as 'ud saay o' t' drunkin', swearin' waays: 'Aw can't gi'e un oop; aw mun ha'e a drop, or rap oot t'

oath soom while, and t' good Looard 'll forgi'e un and let un inter t'

kingdom by and bye;' but what does t' good Looard saay?"

"Cut un off, cut un off," called out Sarah Ann, who had been hanging on her neighbour's interpretation with open mouth.

"Ay, la.s.s, thee sees it, and thee mun be willin' to cut un off before t'

Looard 'll gi'e thee His forgiveness, and let thee inter t' kingdom o'

His graace below; thee knows now 'at He never meant t' poor haand ter suffer for t' sin o' t' soul; if thee sins thee 'lt suffer; but thou mun never tak' t' poonishment o' thysen agaain; thou'lt cut off t' drink, la.s.s; thou mun promise 'at ter t' Looard and t' fouks."

"Ay, ay, Jane, aw'll promise 'at! aw'm not loike to forget coom a greeat while wi' t' hand ter mind me," said Sarah Ann, looking regretfully down at the useless member.

"Aw'll see to curin' un; aw've soom rare ointment oop at hoom; aw'll fetch un, and then aw'll coom and redd oop for thee;" and so saying Jane left the house, and sore as her bodily anguish was, Sarah Ann knelt and thanked the Lord that He had borne the punishment for all her sins; and once more, in a very ignorant fashion, doubtless, but in earnestness and singleness of purpose, she gave herself to Him to be kept from her besetting sins; promising, in His strength, to "cut un off," now and for ever, and we are glad to say the promise was faithfully kept.

When her neighbour returned with healing appliances, she listened with heart-felt praises on her own lips to the song of praise that was being raised, and joined in words that to her had long been sweetly familiar:

"My Jesus, I love Thee, I know Thou art mine; For Thee all the pleasures of sin I resign; My gracious Redeemer, my Saviour art Thou; If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus 'tis now."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"OUT OF THE WAY."

"THAT was a fine sermon, Herbert! A masterpiece of eloquence and forceful teaching combined," said Mrs. Green to her husband, as they walked home one Sunday morning after service.

A look of pain crossed the good deacon's face, and he answered:

"I have news which will surprise you, Mary. My own suspicion and that of my brother deacons has been fully confirmed this morning."

"What suspicion," asked Mrs. Green quickly.

"That our pastor has for some time past given way to the allurements of strong drink."

"Oh, that is too dreadful! it cannot be true; so good, devoted, and holy a man as I have always thought him to be!"

"It is certainly true. Unfortunately, drink spares none, and the more n.o.ble and exalted its victims, the more sure and complete is their downfall. It will seem incredible to you; but the truth is, Mr. Harris preached this morning under the influence of liquor. He had been drinking before he came into the vestry, and was trembling and scarcely able to stand. He said he had been suffering with neuralgia, and asked for a gla.s.s of wine to steady his nerves. I said, 'Excuse me, Mr.

Harris, it is painfully apparent that you have already indulged too freely in stimulant.' He looked convicted, and covered his face; but presently stammered out something about his excessive intellectual labours compelling him to resort to alcohol. Mr. Shaw then said: 'We would far rather listen to simpler preaching, Mr. Harris, than know that your brilliant discourses are composed and delivered under the stimulus of wine.' He promised to be more careful in the future; but declared that it was quite impossible for him to face the large congregation unless he could gain a little self-command; and truly he was in a pitiable condition. It was close upon service time, and there was no alternative but to give him more wine. To my surprise, immediately afterwards he mounted the pulpit stairs steadily, and conducted the service, as you know, with the utmost propriety. But we are resolved that he must either give up the practice of taking stimulant, or leave the church."

"Oh, Herbert! I'm overwhelmed. Mr. Harris has helped me in my spiritual life as no one else has, and it seems impossible that he could give way to such an awful sin as drunkenness," and Mrs. Green dashed away the tears of sympathy that had fallen, and resolved to hope and pray that her beloved pastor might break from the fatal habit which was making him its victim. But months went by, and Mr. Harris was found to be indulging in still deeper excess, until the story of his downfall was on every lip. Again and again he vowed reformation, and before G.o.d and his people humbled himself; but he lacked the needful courage to put the poisonous cup entirely away. "I must take a little, only a little," he said, and that little continually a.s.serted its power to entice and ensnare.

Couched in terms of Christian sympathy and forbearance, his dismissal from the flock, over whom for years he had tenderly watched, came at length. He was sitting in his study bending over it in remorse and shame when a knock was heard at his door, and a brother minister entered.

"Just in time to witness my degradation," he exclaimed bitterly. "Look here, Shafton! it has come to this! What will become of my wife and children now?"

The Rev. Ernest Shafton laid his hand upon the shoulder of his brother, perused in silence the official paper before him, and then walked to the window. Deeply cogitating, he stood there for some time, while Mr.

Harris's face grew darker, and he muttered, "Turned against me, like every one else! Well, it's my own doing."

"Harris," said Mr. Shafton, suddenly, "do you know what this means for you, my poor fellow?"

"Ruin, I suppose," was the gloomy answer.

"Ay, ruin for time and eternity--having preached to others to become yourself a castaway; but you will not suffer alone, Harris. Your gentle, refined wife will be plunged from comfort to penury; your beautiful, promising children will know the cruel shifts of poverty; will hear their father's name uttered in accents of contempt by a scoffing world; will watch his downward career with fear and loathing, and yet, oh! mark my words, will probably follow in his footsteps, drag out miserable existences, and eventually fill drunkards' graves."

"G.o.d forbid! G.o.d forbid! anything but that," exclaimed the startled minister, rising in great agitation and pacing the room.

"G.o.d does forbid; but you Harris, are paving your children's road to ruin. Come, I have a proposal to make. By G.o.d's help, I will save you if you will let me."

"Do what you will, I am ready to submit to anything," groaned the trembling man.

"I will use all my influence to change this dismissal into a long suspension of duties. Meanwhile, you shall leave your home and come and stay with me, and I will stand beside you while you fight in G.o.d's strength against your foe; but, my brother, you must pledge yourself to abstain from all intoxicants, now and for ever. Say, are you resolved, for the sake of your wife and children, and your own eternal happiness, to put the accursed thing beneath your feet?"

There was a solemn pause, and in the silence a woman's step crossed the floor, and gentle hands twined round the erring man's neck.

"Jessie, help me, decide for me now," he cried.

Ernest Shafton repeated his proposal to the wife, asking if she would second his efforts to save her husband, by her willing consent to leave him in the care of his friend for a year, or longer if needful, until his reformation were effected.

"A year, did you say? a lifetime, if necessary," was the instant reply.

Stooping to her husband's ear she whispered, "Go, dear Henry, and in G.o.d's strength fight and conquer. Let no regretful thought turn towards me, for I shall be content.

"'While thee I see Living to G.o.d, thou art alive to me!'"

"You are an angel, Jessie!" exclaimed the man, holding his wife's hands and falling on his knees. Cries for forgiveness for the past and help for the future broke from him as he knelt, and his prayer was heard and answered. In years that followed he looked back upon that memorable hour as the turning-point in his history, and thanked G.o.d for the friendly hand that was reached out to save a brother from the abyss which yawned at his feet. Once again he filled an honoured position as the pastor of a large and influential church. Once again he pa.s.sed in and out of the houses of the people, the beloved friend and ready helper of rich and poor; but in addition to former labours he became everywhere known as the advocate of Total Abstinence for young and old, and so persistent were his efforts in this direction, that many of the deacons and influential men of his church became rigid adherents of the good cause.

"Sir," said one upon whom all the pastor's arguments had apparently been wasted; "Mr. Harris, why can't you let us non-abstainers alone? Let us go our way, and we will accord you the same liberty of action."

Mr. Harris's brow clouded with some painful recollection, and he said with much feeling: "You compel me to refer to the past. Allow me very tenderly, but faithfully to remind you that you did not accord me 'liberty of action' in times gone by."

"What do you mean?" inquired the astonished deacon.

"Forgive me for seeming to be ungrateful for the kindness which alone prompted you; but, oh, my dear friend, remember how in years, that, thank G.o.d, are past, you and your brother deacons, equally hospitable and kind-hearted, never allowed me to decline your offer of wine or spirits. If I paid you a call before preaching, you insisted that I needed to be stimulated for my work, and pressed me to accept the best wine your cellars could supply. If I dropped in on my way home, I was sure to be looking white and exhausted, and must therefore take 'just one gla.s.s' to restore my energies. Heat and cold, rain and sunshine, joy and sorrow, all afforded you an excuse for compelling me to partake of the fatal cup. Your wines found their way to my table in abundance. Many a time I sought to refuse your false kindness; but you know how deeply I should have grieved you if I had not accepted your hospitality. From the day I first entered upon my pastorate as a moderate drinker, I felt that it was considered a personal slight if I visited any house and refused the proffered wine. Can you wonder that I grew to feel it a necessity?

that presently I stumbled and fell, and for a time was 'out of the way through strong drink'? Oh, my brother, let me beg, that, if you cannot banish intoxicants from your home, you will at least refrain from pressing them upon others, lest you cause a weaker brother to offend."