Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe

by Harriet Beecher Stowe

  The good people of Camden, however, knew not what to think of a course that appeared to them an entire violation of all the requirements of the Sabbath. The first impulse of human nature is to condemn at once all who vary from what has been commonly regarded as the right way; and, accordingly, Mr. James was unsparingly denounced, by many good people, as a Sabbath breaker, and infidel, and an opposer to religion.

  Such was the character heard of him by Mr. Richards, a young clergyman, who, shortly after Mr. James fixed his residence in Camden, accepted the pastoral charge of the village. It happened that Mr. Richards had known Mr. James in college, and, remembering him as a remarkably serious, amiable, and conscientious man, he resolved to ascertain from himself the views which had led him to the course of conduct so offensive to the good people of the neighborhood.

  “This is all very well, my good friend,” said he, after he had listened to Mr. James’s eloquent account of his own system of religious instruction, and its effects upon his family, “I do not doubt that this system does very well for yourself and family; but there are other things to be taken into consideration besides personal and family improvement. Do you not know, Mr. James, that the most worthless and careless part of my congregation quote your example as a respectable precedent for allowing their families to violate the order of the Sabbath? You and your children sail about on the lake, with minds and hearts, I doubt not, elevated and tranquilized by its quiet repose; but Ben Dakes, and his idle, profane army of children, consider themselves as doing very much the same thing when they lie lolling about, sunning themselves on its shore, or skipping stones over its surface the whole of a Sunday afternoon.”

  “Let every one answer to his own conscience,” replied Mr. James. “If I keep the Sabbath conscientiously, I am approved of God; if another transgresses his conscience, ‘to his own master he standeth or falleth.’ I am not responsible for all the abuses that idle or evil-disposed persons may fall into, in consequence of my doing what is right.”

  “Let me quote an answer from the same chapter,” said Mr. Richards. “‘Let no man put a stumbling-block, or an occasion to fall, in his brother’s way: let not your good be evil spoken of. It is good neither to eat flesh nor drink wine, nor anything whereby thy brother stumbleth, or is offended, or made weak.’ Now, my good friend, you happen to be endowed with a certain tone of mind which enables you to carry through your mode of keeping the Sabbath with little comparative evil, and much good, so far as your family is concerned; but how many persons in this neighborhood, do you suppose, would succeed equally well if they were to attempt it? If it were the common custom for families to absent themselves from public worship in the afternoon, and to stroll about the fields, or ride, or sail, how many parents, do you suppose, would have the dexterity and talent to check all that was inconsistent with the duties of the day? Is it not your ready command of language, your uncommon tact in simplifying and illustrating, your knowledge of natural history and of Biblical literature, that enable you to accomplish the results that you do? And is there one parent in a hundred that could do the same? Now, just imagine our neighbor,’Squire Hart, with his ten boys and girls, turned out into the fields on a Sunday afternoon to profit withal: you know he can never finish a sentence without stopping to begin it again half a dozen times. What progress would he make in instructing them? And so of a dozen others I could name along this very street here. Now, you men of cultivated minds must give your countenance to courses which would be best for society at large, or, as the sentiment was expressed by St. Paul, ‘We that are strong ought to bear the infirmities of the weak, and not to please ourselves, for even Christ pleased not himself.’ Think, my dear sir, if our Saviour had gone only on the principle of avoiding what might be injurious to his own improvement, how unsafe his example might have proved to less elevated minds. Doubtless he might have made a Sabbath day fishing excursion an occasion of much elevated and impressive instruction; but, although he declared himself ‘Lord of the Sabbath day,’ and at liberty to suspend its obligation at his own discretion, yet he never violated the received method of observing it, except in cases where superstitious tradition trenched directly on those interests which the Sabbath was given to promote. He asserted the right to relieve pressing bodily wants, and to administer to the necessities of others on the Sabbath, but beyond that he allowed himself in no deviation from established custom.”

  Mr. James looked thoughtful. “I have not reflected on the subject in this view,” he replied. “But, my dear sir, considering how little of the public services of the Sabbath is on a level with the capacity of younger children, it seems to me almost a pity to take them to church the whole of the day.”

  “I have thought of that myself,” replied Mr. Richards, “and have sometimes thought that, could persons be found to conduct such a thing, it would be desirable to institute a separate service for children, in which the exercises should be particularly adapted to them.”

  “I should like to be minister to a congregation of children,” said Mr. James warmly.

  “Well,” replied Mr. Richards, “give our good people time to get acquainted with you, and do away the prejudices which your extraordinary mode of proceeding has induced, and I think I could easily assemble such a company for you every Sabbath.”

  After this, much to the surprise of the village, Mr. James and his family were regular attendants at both the services of the Sabbath. Mr. Richards explained to the good people of his congregation the motives which had led their neighbor to the adoption of what, to them, seemed so unchristian a course; and, upon reflection, they came to the perception of the truth, that a man may depart very widely from the received standard of right for other reasons than being an infidel or an opposer of religion. A ready return of cordial feeling was the result; and as Mr. James found himself treated with respect and confidence, he began to feel, notwithstanding his fastidiousness, that there were strong points of congeniality between all real and warm-hearted Christians, however different might be their intellectual culture, and in all simplicity united himself with the little church of Camden. A year from the time of his first residence there, every Sabbath afternoon saw him surrounded by a congregation of young children, for whose benefit he had, at his own expense, provided a room, fitted up with maps, Scriptural pictures, and every convenience for the illustration of Biblical knowledge; and the parents or guardians who from time to time attended their children during these exercises often confessed themselves as much interested and benefited as any of their youthful companions.

  SKETCH THIRD

  It was near the close of a pleasant Saturday afternoon that I drew up my weary horse in front of a neat little dwelling in the village of N. This, as near as I could gather from description, was the house of my cousin, William Fletcher, the identical rogue of a Bill Fletcher, of whom we have aforetime spoken. Bill had always been a thriving, push-ahead sort of a character, and during the course of my rambling life I had improved every occasional opportunity of keeping up our early acquaintance. The last time that I returned to my native country, after some years of absence, I heard of him as married and settled in the village of N., where he was conducting a very prosperous course of business, and shortly after received a pressing invitation to visit him at his own home. Now, as I had gathered from experience the fact that it is of very little use to rap one’s knuckles off on the front door of a country house without any knocker, I therefore made the best of my way along a little path, bordered with marigolds and balsams, that led to the back part of the dwelling. The sound of a number of childish voices made me stop, and, looking through the bushes, I saw the very image of my Cousin Bill Fletcher, as he used to be twenty years ago; the same bold forehead, the same dark eyes, the same smart, saucy mouth, and the same “who-cares-for-that” toss to his head. “There, now,” exclaimed the boy, setting down a pair of shoes that he had been blacking, and arranging them at the head of a long row of all sizes and sorts, from those which might have fitted a two-year-
old foot upward, “there, I’ve blacked every single one of them, and made them shine too, and done it all in twenty minutes; if anybody thinks they can do it quicker than that, I’d just like to have them try; that’s all.”

  “I know they couldn’t, though,” said a fair-haired little girl, who stood admiring the sight, evidently impressed with the utmost reverence for her brother’s ability; “and, Bill, I’ve been putting up all the playthings in the big chest, and I want you to come and turn the lock — the key hurts my fingers.”

  “Poh! I can turn it easier than that,” said the boy, snapping his fingers; “have you got them all in?”

  “Yes, all; only I left out the soft bales, and the string of red beads, and the great rag baby for Fanny to play with — you know mother says babies must have their playthings Sunday.”

  “Oh, to be sure,” said the brother very considerately; “babies can’t read, you know, as we can, nor hear Bible stories, nor look at pictures.” At this moment I stepped forward, for the spell of former times was so powerfully on me, that I was on the very point of springing forward with a “Halloo, there, Bill!” as I used to meet the father in old times; but the look of surprise that greeted my appearance brought me to myself.

  “Is your father at home?” said I.

  “Father and mother are both gone out; but I guess, sir, they will be home in a few moments: won’t you walk in?”

  I accepted the invitation, and the little girl showed me into a small and very prettily furnished parlor. There was a piano with music-books on one side of the room, some fine pictures hung about the walls, and a little, neat centre-table was plentifully strewn with books. Besides this, the two recesses on each side of the fireplace contained each a bookcase with a glass locked door.

  The little girl offered me a chair, and then lingered a moment, as if she felt some disposition to entertain me if she could only think of something to say; and at last, looking up in my face, she said in a confidential tone, “Mother says she left Willie and me to keep house this afternoon while she was gone, and we are putting up all the things for Sunday, so as to get everything done before she comes home. Willie has gone to put away the playthings, and I’m going to put up the books.” So saying, she opened the doors of one of the bookcases, and began busily carrying the books from the centre-table to deposit them on the shelves, in which employment she was soon assisted by Willie, who took the matter in hand in a very masterly manner, showing his sister what were and what were not “Sunday books” with the air of a person entirely at home in the business. “Robinson Crusoe” and the many-volumed Peter Parley were put by without hesitation; there was, however, a short demurring over a “North American Review,” because Willie said he was sure his father read something one Sunday out of it while Susan averred that he did not commonly read in it, and only read in it then because the piece was something about the Bible; but as nothing could be settled definitively on the point, the review was “laid on the table,” like knotty questions in Congress. Then followed a long discussion over an extract book, which, as usual, contained all sorts, both sacred, serious, comic, and profane; and at last Willie, with much gravity, decided to lock it up, on the principle that it was best to be on the safe side, in support of which he appealed to me. I was saved from deciding the question by the entrance of the father and mother. My old friend knew me at once, and presented his pretty wife to me with the same look of exultation with which he used to hold up a string of trout or an uncommonly fine perch of his own catching for my admiration, and then looking round on his fine family of children, two more of which he had brought home with him, seemed to say to me, “There! what do you think of that, now?”

  And, in truth, a very pretty sight it was — enough to make any one’s old bachelor coat sit very uneasily on him. Indeed, there is nothing that gives one such a startling idea of the tricks that old Father Time has been playing on us, as to meet some boyish or girlish companions with half a dozen or so of thriving children about them. My old friend, I found, was in essence just what the boy had been. There was the same upright bearing, the same confident, cheerful tone to his voice, and the same fire in his eye; only that the hand of manhood had slightly touched some of the lines of his face, giving them a staidness of expression becoming the man and the father.

  “Very well, my children,” said Mrs. Fletcher, as, after tea, William and Susan finished recounting to her the various matters that they had set in order that afternoon; “I believe now we can say that our week’s work is finished, and that we have nothing to do but rest and enjoy ourselves.”

  “Oh, and papa will show us the pictures in those great books that he brought home for us last Monday, will he not?” said little Robert.

  “And, mother, you will tell us some more about Solomon’s temple and his palaces, won’t you?” said Susan.

  “And I should like to know if father has found out the answer to that hard question I gave him last Sunday?” said Willie.

  “All will come in good time,” said Mrs. Fletcher. “But tell me, my dear children, are you sure that you are quite ready for the Sabbath? You say you have put away the books and the playthings; have you put away, too, all wrong and unkind feelings? Do you feel kindly and pleasantly towards everybody?”

  “Yes, mother,” said Willie, who appeared to have taken a great part of this speech to himself; “I went over to Tom Walter’s this very morning to ask him about that chicken of mine, and he said that he did not mean to hit it, and did not know he had till I told him of it; and so we made all up again, and I am glad I went.”

  “I am inclined to think, Willie,” said his father, “that if everybody would make it a rule to settle up all their differences before Sunday, there would be very few long quarrels and lawsuits. In about half the cases, a quarrel is founded on some misunderstanding that would be got over in five minutes if one would go directly to the person for explanation.”

  “I suppose I need not ask you,” said Mrs. Fletcher, “whether you have fully learned your Sunday-school lessons?”

  “Oh, to be sure,” said William. “You know, mother, that Susan and I were busy about them through Monday and Tuesday, and then this afternoon we looked them over again, and wrote down some questions.”

  “And I heard Robert say his all through, and showed him all the places on the Bible Atlas,” said Susan.

  “Well, then,” said my friend, “if everything is done, let us begin Sunday with some music.”

  Thanks to the recent improvements in the musical instruction of the young, every family can now form a domestic concert, with words and tunes adapted to the capacity and the voices of children; and while these little ones, full of animation, pressed round their mother as she sat at the piano, and accompanied her music with the words of some beautiful hymns, I thought that, though I might have heard finer music, I had never listened to any that answered the purpose of music so well.

  It was a custom at my friend’s to retire at an early hour on Saturday evening, in order that there might be abundant time for rest, and no excuse for late rising on the Sabbath; and, accordingly, when the children had done singing, after a short season of family devotion, we all betook ourselves to our chambers, and I, for one, fell asleep with the impression of having finished the week most agreeably, and with anticipations of very great pleasure on the morrow.

  Early in the morning I was roused from my sleep by the sound of little voices singing with great animation in the room next to mine, and, listening, I caught the following words: —

  “Awake! awake! your bed forsake,

  To God your praises pay;

  The morning sun is clear and bright;

  With joy we hail his cheerful light.

  In songs of love

  Praise God above —

  It is the Sabbath day!”

  The last words were repeated and prolonged most vehemently by a voice that I knew for Master William’s.

  “Now, Willie, I like the other one best,” said the soft voi
ce of little Susan; and immediately she began: —

  “How sweet is the day,

  When, leaving our play,

  The Saviour we seek!

  The fair morning glows

  When Jesus arose —

  The best in the week.”

  Master William helped along with great spirit in the singing of this tune, though I heard him observing, at the end of the first verse, that he liked the other one better, because “it seemed to step off so kind o’ lively;” and his accommodating sister followed him as he began singing it again with redoubled animation.