Four Girls at Chautauqua Part 32

But the waiting was over; suddenly the Chautauqua bells began to peal; strains of martial music, and the roll of drums, mingled with the booming of cannon; and almost before they were aware, even after all their waiting, twenty thousand people stood face to face with their nation's chief.

"When the president's head appears above this platform, I hope it will thunder here," had been Dr. Vincent's suggestion several hours before.

Thunder! That was no comparison! I hope even _he_ was satisfied. Then how that song of greeting rung out; tender still, even in its power: "Let the hearts of all the people circle him with prayer." No better gift for him than that.

After the cheering and the singing, and the very brief speech from the president himself, came the address of welcome by Dr. Fowler of Chicago.

His first sentence sent the mult.i.tude into another storm of cheers. Said he: "The work that I thought to do, has been done by twenty thousand people." How could they help doing it again after that? Chautauqua had not dropped her colors in this plan of an afternoon given to the president.

The address of welcome from first to last rang with the gospel invitation, "come;" no better word than that even for their chief; "honor to whom honor is due," quoted the speaker, and then followed his graceful tribute, but it closed with a tender, dignified, earnest appeal to the President of the United States to 'rest' in the same refuge, to enlist under the same flag, to be loyal to the same Chief, whom they were met to serve.

"Out of my heart," said he: "as a man who recognizes G.o.d as the supreme ruler of us all, I bid you come with us, and we will do you good, for the Lord hath spoken good concerning Israel."

Poor Eurie! What a place she had chosen if she desired to hear no more preaching. What were all these exercises, but sermons, one after the other, strong warm unanswerable appeals to be loyal to the Great Chief?

Certainly Dr. Deems was not the man to forget the Greater in his greeting to the under ruler; nor did he.

"Let me speak to you in closing," said he, "to you and to this a.s.sembly, out of my heart. We shall never all stand together again, until that great white throne shall stop in mid heavens, and we shall stand to meet the Chiefest of all chiefs. O men and brethren, shall we not all prepare to meet there? Mr. President, every day prayer is made for you; we are hoping to meet with you in heaven. Brave men who stood beside you in the late war, and have gone on ahead, are hoping to greet you there. May you have a good life, a happy life, a blessed life; and may other tongues more eloquent than mine, more eloquent than even my brother's who preceded me, bid you welcome one day to the general a.s.sembly of the first born. Amen and amen."

What could better close the matchless greetings than to have the Tennesseeans circle round their president and sing again that ringing chorus:

"I've been redeemed, Been washed in the blood of the Lamb."

"I don't know what will become of the grumblers," Marion said as they rested in various stages of dishabille, and talked the exciting scenes over. "They have been shamefully left in the lurch; they were going to have this affair a demoralizing dissipation from first to last, unworthy of the spirit of Chautauqua. And if more solemn, or more searching, or more effective preaching could be crowded into an afternoon than has been done here, I should like to be shown how. What do you think of your choice of entertainments, Eurie? You thought it would be safe to attend the president's reception, you remember."

"I don't tell all I think," Eurie answered, and then she went out among the trees.

Truth to tell, Eurie had heard that from which she could not get away.

Dr. Vincent's words were still sounding, "you are invited to come to Jesus and be saved; you are invited to come _now_." There had been nothing to dissipate that impression, everything to deepen it, and the thought that clung and repeated itself to her heart was that plaintive wail:

"Almost persuaded, now to believe."

That was certainly herself; she felt it, knew it; in the face of that knowledge think how solemn the words grew:

"Almost will not prevail, Almost is but to fail; Sad, sad that bitter wail, Almost,--but lost!"

Was that for her, too? In short, Eurie out there alone, among the silent trees, felt and admitted this fact: that the time had actually come to her when this question must be decided, either for or against, and decided forever.

Sunday morning at Chautauqua! A white day. There can be none of all that throng who spent the 15th day of August, 1875, in that sacred place, who remember it without a thrill. A perfect day! Glorious and glowing sunshine everywhere; and beauty, such perfect beauty of lake and grove! The G.o.d of nature smiled lovingly on Chautauqua that morning.

Our girls seemed to think that the perfect day required perfection of attire, and it was noticeable that the taste of each settled on spotless white, without color or ornament, other than a spray of leaves and gra.s.ses, which one and another of them gathered almost without knowing it, and placed in belt or hair. Outward calm, but inward unrest, at least so far as some were concerned; Marion Wilbur among the number.

It was a very heavy heart that she carried that day. There was no unbelief; that demon was conquered. Instead there was an overpowering, terrible _certainty_. And now came Satan with the whole of her past life which had turned to sin before her, and hurled it on her poor shrinking shoulders, until she felt almost to faint beneath the load; she lay miserably on her bed, and thought that she would not add to her burden by going to the service, that she knew already too much. But an appeal from Flossy to keep her company, as the others had gone, had the effect of changing her mind.

Armed each with a camp-chair, they made their way to the stand, after the great congregation were seated. A fortunate thought those camp-chairs had been; there was not a vacant seat anywhere.

Marion placed her chair out of sight both of stand and speaker, but within hearing, and gave herself up to her own troubled thoughts, until the opening exercises were concluded and the preacher announced his text: "The place that is called Calvary."

She roused a little and tried to determine whose voice it was, it had a familiar sound, but she could not be sure, and she tried to go back to the useless questionings of her own heart; but she could not. She could never be deaf to eloquence; whoever the speaker was, there was that in his very opening sentences which roused and held her. Whatever he had to say, whether or not it was anything that had to do with her, she _must_ listen. Still the wonderment existed as to which voice it was.

But when he reached the sentences: "Jump the ages! Come down here to Chautauqua Lake to-day, O Son of G.o.d! O Son of Man! O Son of Mary! When the prophet of old said, 'He shall see of the travail of his soul and shall be satisfied,' did he look along the centuries and see the gathered thousands here, who have just sung, 'Tell me the old, old story'? What story? Why, the story of the place that is called Calvary!"--Marion leaned forward and addressed the person next to her.

"Isn't that Dr. Deems?" she said.

"Yes indeed!" was the answer, spoken with enthusiasm.

And Marion drew back, and listened. That sermon! Marion tried to report it, but it was like trying to report the roll of the waves on the Atlantic; she could only listen with beating heart and flushing cheek.

Presently she listened with a new interest, for the divisions of the subject were: "G.o.d's thought of sin," and "G.o.d's thought of mercy."

Though the morning was warm, she shivered and drew her wrap closer about her. "G.o.d's thought of sin! She was in a mood to comprehend in a measure what a fearful thought it might be.

"Some men," said the speaker, "make light of sin." Yes, she had done it herself. "Where shall we learn what G.o.d thinks of it? On Sinai? No. G.o.d spoke there in thunder and lightning, till the very _hills_ shook and trembled.

"And what were they doing down below? Dancing around a golden calf! I tell you it is only at Calvary that we can learn G.o.d's idea of sin. For at Calvary, because of sin, G.o.d the Father surrendered his communion with G.o.d the Son, and on Calvary G.o.d _died_! Will G.o.d ever forgive sin?

Many a one has carried that question around in his soul until it burned there."

Now you can imagine how Marion tried no more to write; thought no more about eloquence; this question, which had become to her the one terrible question of life, was being looked into.

"How will we find out? Go by science into nature, and there's no proof of it; G.o.d never forgives what seems to be the mistake of even a reptile!"

I cannot tell you about the rest of that sermon. I took no notes of it; my notes ended abruptly in the middle of a sentence; one cannot write out words that are piercing to their hearts. I doubt if even Marion Wilbur can give you any satisfactory account of the wording of the sentences. And yet Marion Wilbur rose up at its close, with cheeks aglow not only with tears, but smiles; and the question, "Will G.o.d ever forgive sin?" she could answer.

There was a place where the burden would roll away. "At the place called Calvary." She knew it, believed it, felt it,--why should she not? She had been there in very deed, that summer morning. He had seen again of the travail of his soul, he was one soul nearer to being satisfied.

There were other matters of interest: those two Bibles, symbol of the Chautauqua pulse,--that were presented to the nation's highest officer; the address which accompanied them--simple, earnest gospel; the hymn they sang,--_everything_ was full of interest. But Marion let it pa.s.s by her like the sound of music, and the words in her heart that kept time to it all were the closing words of that sermon:

"Here I could forever stay, Sit and _sing_ my life away.

This is more than life to me, Lovely, mournful Calvary."

It was so, all day. She went to the afternoon service; she listened to Dr. Fowler's sermon, not as she had ever listened to one before; the sermon for the first time was for her. When people listen for _themselves_, there is a difference. She felt fed and strengthened; she joined in the singing as her voice had never joined before; they were singing about _her_ Saviour. Then she went back to her tent.

"I am not going to-night," she said to the girls. "I am full, I want nothing more to-day."

"Preached out, I declare!" said Eurie. "Are you going to write out your report for the paper? I wouldn't, Marion. I would go to the meeting. I am going."

"No," said Marion in answer to the question, and smiling at the thought.

How strange it would seem to her to spend _this_ Sabbath evening thus.

How many had she so spent!

"I am glad to-morrow is the last day," she said, sinking into a chair; "I want to go home."

And Flossy and Ruth looked at each other, and sighed. How well these girls understood one another! Why can't people be frank and speak so that they can be understood?

Suppose Marion had said: "No, I am _not_ going to write my report, I am going to pray." Suppose she had said; "Yes, I want to go home to _practice_."

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

THE BEGINNING OF THE END.