THE TRIAL SERMON. She Before he left home he had talked the whole thing over with his wife. It was a great matter to chose what sermon to take, among the eight or ten which he accounted his best. Usually his wife was the most simple and unworldly of women. was so eager now that he scarcely knew her. She seemed almost to forget that God held control in this as well as in other concerns of life. Her cheeks glowed, and her hand was feverish. Her voice fairly trembled as she said, the very last thing— "O, Henry, don't think of failing. Remember the children— how soon they'll need to go to school and college-how much you'll want to see them grow up in the midst of refinement and culture." She had not thought or spoken of herself-Alice never did. He thought of her none the less, however, as he rode on, in the lumbering farm waggon, toward the five-miles-off railway station, where he was to set out on his journey to Colonore. How pretty she had been ten years ago, how young, how bright! He knew that something more than the ten years had changed her to the pale, hollow-eyed woman who had just bidden him goodbye. The cares which had pressed heavily enough on him had fallen with double weight on her. He knew how she had lost youth and brightness. And to what good? he asked himself, in a thankless, almost despairing, mood. As there was to be a Sabbath school meeting in the afternoon he was not expected to preach but half of the day, and had chosen at last, among his sermons, one from the text " In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so I would have told you." This was a discourse of the kind which offends no one, yet which all agree in describing by the one adjective-beautiful. Mr. Eastman had chosen it because it could jar upon no one's prejudices. Colonore, he had heard, and heard with great regret, was—well, let us say-a very Conservative parish. There are a few such left in Connecticut, low be it spoken. It would not do to preach to them that fiery sermon in which, as his old deacon grimly told him, he had proved himself a very sun of thunder," from the text "But he, willing to justify himself, said unto Jesus, And who is my neighbour?" 66 Sometime, perhaps, that very sermon, with its stern denunciations of wrong, its fervent claim of neighbourhood and brotherhood for all races, and classes, and kindreds of men, might do these Colonore people good. But that must be after he had THE TRIAL SERMON. taught them to respect him and his faith, and to like him, sonally, as well. per It was nightfall when he reached his journey's end. Already the streets were lighted, and he was astonished to see what a citylike aspect the place wore. The gentleman whose wife had been the main-spring of the movement to send for him met him as he stepped from the train. "The Rev. Mr. Eastman ?" he asked, holding out cordial hands. Mr. Eastman bowed. "My name is Garfield—you have met my wife." And then the minister was hurried into a light open carriage and driven away rapidly, his companion keeping up a constant flow of easy talk. He stopped once to point out the church-a gray stone building, handsome and substantial. A faint flutter of worldly pride stirred in the country parson's heart. It would be pleasant to be pastor of such a church. He passed the evening in making himself agreeable, and learning what he could about the arrangements of the church. The salary was fifteen hundred dollars. That seemed riches to Mr. Eastman, but he said nothing when Mr. Garfield suggested that the parish could easily afford to raise it if they were entirely satisfied. The candidate was to preach, and directly after the service of the morning a meeting was to be held to decide upon his claims. He had come to them so highly recommended that the committee having the matter in charge had thought immediate action expedient in his case, although such meetings were usually held on week days. The minister went to bed late, his brain in a whirl. He was thankful to be so familiar with his sermon that he need not even look at it. That was all right-well for him that it was so, for never had he felt so incapable of constructing a single sentence. He rose late again next morning, and it was not until just before church that he found a moment to try and quiet his mind, and bring his heart into harmony with the work before him. After he had knelt to ask for aid and strength, he hastily unfolded the manuscript of his sermon and started to his feet with a cry of dismay. By what unlucky chance had he brought the wrong parcel? The text of the sermon he was to preach-the only sermon he had with him--stared him in the face. It was not, "In my Father's house are many mansions," but, Who is my neighbour ?" THE TRIAL SERMON. What should he do? He had never extemporized a discourse in his life-least of all could he do so now, with this whirling, anxious brain. For one weak moment he was tempted to feign -and there would have been very little feigning about it—a sudden indisposition, and refuse to preach at all. He threw himself upon his knees in utter helplessness and prayer. When the time of service arrived he rose to his feet, strengthened in heart. A noble purpose had been born within him. He now held fast to his old faith and trust in God for direction. It was meant that he should preach this very sermon, and no othershould he refuse to do his Master's work? It would lose him his opening for a new career—what of that, if it should quicken one soul with the breath of a new life? Mrs. Garfield thought his face shone like the face of an angel when he came out to walk to church with her and her husband. And, indeed, for this once, if never again, he felt himself God's messenger. He went through the preliminary services calmly and reverently. His appearance pleased the people of Colonore, but of this he took no thought. His hope was no longer in them. When he announced his text his voice rang out clear and strong. Then he looked round, for a silent moment, over that full and fashionable congregation-those well-to-do men, and graceful, faultlesslydressed women-and again his tones sounded solemnly above them, "Who is my neighbour ?" Verily, Colonore heard such words that day as Colonore had never heard before was taught then where to look for the neighbour. If she ever forgot afterwards, the sin be upon her and her children; Henry Eastman's skirts would be clear of it. In all wrong doers-in crime-stained men; in outcast women, such as the Lord drew with cords of love to His very feet and then forgave; in all down-trodden and oppressed races; he bade them see the neighbour whom they were called upon to aid-woe be to them if they passed by on the other side. No one who knew that congregation would have believed that they would have sat still through such a sermon. But a spell was upon them which they seemed powerless to break. Full of rage as some of them were, they yet sat quietly. As for the minister, he had put aside utterly the fear of men. He knew well enough that he should never stand again in Colonore pulpit; but none the less did he call out to them, whether they would hear or forbear, his message THE TRIAL SERMON. from God. His soul was full of holy joy. He was raised for the time above all earthly things, and talked to them as one "who would not go to heaven alone." When the service was over he went home silently by Mrs. Garfield's side. Her husband remained to attend the churchmeeting a meeting whose verdict the minister knew well enough beforehand. Only when he passed by her in the hall, to go to his room, did she say to him, with tears in her eyes— "You have done right. It was doing God's own work to preach that sermon. Let that comfort you." That he should get no other comfort he knew well enoughjust as well then as when Mr. Garfield, an hour later, conveyed to him as delicately and kindly as he could the adverse decision of the meeting. The next day at noon he reached his own door his waiting wife. "O, Henry, what did you do? You carried the wrong sermon." She spoke with pitiful eagerness, and he answered, very gently "No, dear. I carried the right sermon, for it was the one God meant me to carry. I am satisfied to have done His work, though we must content ourselves to stay on here at Woodburn a little longer." This is the true end of my story. It has nothing to do with the purpose of it that a stranger had been in Colonore church that day whose thoughts and ways were not as the thoughts and ways of that goodly town; and through whose representations the preacher was called to a parish where the rewards of this life would be offered him in as large measure as they would have been in the Conservative Connecticut town that refused to sit under his ministry. Of that matter the great Paymaster took note, whose promise is not only sure, but has no end. The one lesson is to trust Him-to do His work. The reward will come in His own time and way; if it please Him, "in this life houses and lands;" but better than these, "in the world to come the life everlasting." POETRY. ANECDOTES AND SELECTIONS. Poetry. ONE WEEK IN HEAVEN. "ONE week in heaven;" I'll sit within the room, "One week in heaven!" no thought of thee is bound Home! home at last! O city of the King! O Lamb! whose glory is its fadeless light! When shall our lips among the ransomed sing In the bright streets where comes no shade of night? Anecdotes and Selections. THE COST OF GREATNESS.-The following is a lesson to the young, who imagine success in life to be the result of mere luck:-General Lefebvre enlisted in a regiment of the line, and ended his career as Marshal Duke of Dantzick. An old comrade congratulated him, in a sneering tone, on his position. "Yes," said Lefebvre, "I am Duke of Dantzick, I am a marshal, whilst you are a clerk; but if you wish to change places with me, I will accept the bargain at cost price. Do you know how many gunshots I was exposed to before I won the epaulets? Twenty thousand. I have heard more cannon roar than there are stitches in my uniform. I will just place you in the courtyard of my hotel, and expose you to the chance of twenty thousand shot and shell, at a hundred paces. If you escape well, you shall have my sabre, plume, scarf, and orders-every one of them shall be yours." |