Nestleton Magna Part 3

"A first, full, sudden Pentecost of love,"

it cannot be denied that Philip there and then knew that he loved Lucy Blyth, knew, moreover, that it was a love that would be all-absorbing, a love that time would not lessen, that trial would not weaken, that death would not destroy. No other idea could get in edgewise during that memorable walk. The radiant vision floated before his eyes, and thrilled him to the heart: the very trees seemed to whisper "Lucy" as they trembled in the breeze, and Philip Fuller knew from that hour that he had "found his fate."

Difference of rank, social barriers, his father's exaggerated family pride, Nathan Blyth's st.u.r.dy independence, Lucy's possible denial, and kindred prosy considerations, did not occur to the smitten youth; or if they did they were wondrously minified by love's inverted telescope into microscopic proportions, and through them all he held the juvenilian creed that "love can find out the way." In his dreams that night, he re-enacted all the scene at Adam Olliver's garden gate; saw again the sweetest face in the world or out of it to his glamour-flooded eyes; heard again the question, "Can this be little Lucy Blyth?" Men live rapidly in dreams, time flies like a flash.

Difficulties do not count in dreams, they are ignored, and so it was that Philip answered the question in a _veni-vidi-vici_ kind of spirit, and shouted in dreamland over the garden gate, "Yes it can, and will be Lucy Fuller, by-and-bye!" Then, as John Bunyan says, he "awoke, and behold it was a dream." Ah! Master Philip, Jason did not win the golden fleece without sore travail and fight; Hercules did not win the golden apple of Hesperides without dire conflict with its dragon guard, and if you imagine that this dainty prize is going to fall into your lap for wis.h.i.+ng for, you will find it is indeed a dream from which a veritable thunderclap shall wake you. Will the lightning scathe you? Who may lift the curtain of the future? I would not if I could--better far, as honest Natty sings, to

Do your honest duty, boys, and never, never fear.

The next morning Master Philip left the breakfast-table to go out on a voyage of discovery. Bestriding a handsome bay horse, his father's latest gift, he rode down to Nestleton Forge, and arrived just in time to hear the final strophes of Blithe Natty's latest anvil song. That vivacious son of Vulcan was engaged in sharpening and tempering millers' chisels, and as the labour was not hard, and the blows required were light and rapid, Natty's song dovetailed with the accompaniment:--

Every cloud has a lining of light, Morning is certain to follow the night; Eve may be sombre, the shadows shall flee, Sunny and smiling the morrow shall be.

Cheerily, merrily, sing the refrain, Setting suns ever are rising again.

Hearts may be heavy and hope may be low, Pluck up your spirits and sing as you go.

Hope now, hope ever, though dark be the sky, Night brings the stars out to glitter on high.

Cheerily, merrily, sing the refrain, Setting suns ever are rising again.

Larks fold their wings when daylight is done, Spread them to-morrow again to the sun.

Gloomiest shadows shall lift by-and-bye, Smiles of contentment shall follow the sigh.

Cheerily, merrily, sing the refrain, Setting suns ever are rising again.

"Good morning, Mr. Blyth," said Philip; "I'm glad to have the chance of hearing your merry voice again. I've been intending to ride round ever since my return from college, but my father has managed to keep me pretty much by his side."

"I'm heartily glad to see you, sir," said Nathan, "and mighty pleased to see that college honours and gay company have not led you to forget your poorer neighbours. You know the old proverb, 'When the sun's in the eyes people don't see midges.'"

"Why, as for that," said Philip, with a laugh, "I am not aware that the sun _is_ in my eyes. At any rate I can see you, and you are no midge by any means. 'Should auld acquaintance be forgot?' As for gay company, that is not at all in my line. By-the-bye, what's become of your little daughter? I hope I may have the pleasure of seeing her, too. I suppose she has grown altogether too womanly to accept a ride on Harlequin, the pony, even if I brought him. Is she at home?"

Now, I am quite sure that Nathan Blyth would much rather have preferred that Master Philip should not resume his acquaintance with Lucy. On the other hand, he had the most unbounded confidence in her, while he had no shadow of reason for suspecting Philip of any ulterior motive; hence he could scarcely avoid calling his daughter to speak with the young squire. That young lady soon appeared in graceful morning garb, and the impressible heart of the youthful lover was bound in chains for evermore. There was neither guile nor reserve in his greeting. The light that beamed in his eye and the tone that rung in his voice, could scarcely fail to betray to far less observant eyes and ears the unmeasured satisfaction with which he renewed his acquaintance with the charming girl. Lucy, however, seemed to have retired into herself; her words were few, constrained, and inconsequent, but the tell-tale blush was on her cheek, and there was a singular flutter at her heart, as she saw the ardent admiration which shone in the eyes of her quondam friend. It was with a profound sense of relief that she was able to plead the pressure of domestic duties as a reason for shortening the interview and retiring from the scene. After a brief conversation with Nathan on trivial matters, Philip mounted his horse and rode homewards, in that frame of mind so admirably depicted by Otway:--

"Where am I? Sure Paradise is round me; Sweets planted by the hand of heaven grow here, And every sense is full of thy perfection!

To hear thee speak might calm a madman's frenzy, Till by attention he forgot his sorrows; But to behold thy eyes, th' amazing beauties Would make him rage again with love, as I do; Thou Nature's whole perfection in one piece!

Sure, framing thee, Heaven took unusual care; As its own beauty, it designed thee fair, And formed thee by the best loved angel there."

Such were the emotions Philip Fuller felt as he turned away from the Forge of Nathan Blyth. Rounding the corner in the direction of Waverdale Hall, he was suddenly confronted by the scowling face and suspicious eyes of Black Morris.

CHAPTER VII.

KESTERTON CIRCUIT AND THE "ROUNDERS."

"A good man there was of religioun, And he was a poor parsoun of a toune; But rich he was of holy thought and werk.

He was, also, a learned man, a clerk That Christe's gospel gladly wolde preche; His parischens devoutly wolde he teche.

Benign he was and wondrous diligent, And in adversite full patient."

_Chaucer._

Methodism was introduced into Kesterton in the days of John Wesley himself, and in the plain, square, old-fas.h.i.+oned chapel, with its arched windows, brick walls, and hip roof, red tiled and high peaked, you might see the very pulpit in which the grand old apostle of the eighteenth century preached more than a hundred years ago. The chapel stood back from the main street, and to get at it you had to go through a narrow pa.s.sage, for the fathers of the Methodist Church, unlike their more self-a.s.sertive successors, seem to have courted a very modest retirement for the Bethels which they built for G.o.d.

Behind the chapel there is a small burial-ground, in which are the honoured graves of those to whom Kesterton Methodism owes its origin, and who did its work and bore its fortunes in its earlier struggles for existence. On the other side of an intervening wall, in the midst of a little garden, capable of much improvement in the matter of tidiness and cultivation, stands the "preacher's house." It is not by any means an imposing structure, and taxes to the utmost the contrivance of its itinerant tenants to find sleeping accommodation for the "quiver full" of youngsters with which they are commonly favoured in an unusual degree. In the matter of furniture the less said the better; suffice it to say that it could not be regarded as extravagant in quality or burdensome in quant.i.ty. Indeed, it was open to serious imputations in both those directions; at least so thought the Rev. Theophilus Clayton, who had latterly become located there, and seemed likely to go through the maximum term of three years, to the high satisfaction of the people, and with a moderate measure of contentment to himself.

Kesterton rejoiced in the dignity of being a circuit town, and at the time to which these annals refer, the circuit extended from Meriton in the east to Amworth Marsh in the west; and from Chessleby on the north to Bexton on the south, an area of nineteen miles by twenty-one. There was a circuit horse and gig provided for the longer journeys, but as the "better days" which both of them _had_ seen smacked of the mediaeval age, the gig was as little remarkable for polish or paint as the horse was either for beauty or speed.

The Rev. Theophilus Clayton was an admirable specimen of an old-fas.h.i.+oned Methodist preacher. He was of middle-height and somewhat portly figure; had an intelligent and pleasant face, a broad forehead, a pair of piercing black eyes surmounted by dark thick eyebrows and hair fast whitening, but more with toil than age. His whole appearance was calculated to win attention and respect, and his piety and force of character were almost certain to retain them after they had been won. He was "in labours more abundant," and in addition to being an effective preacher, he was a capital business man, one under whose management a circuit is pretty sure to thrive.

His colleague, the Rev. Matthew Mitch.e.l.l, was young in years, and not yet out of his probation. Though he was not equal to his superintendent in pulpit ability, he largely made up for it by his diligent pastoral visitation, and the earnest and vigorous way in which he went about his high and holy calling. It is not given to all men to possess high intellectual abilities and oratoric strength, but it is given to every man to be able, as the Americans say, "to do his level best," and that by the blessing of G.o.d may be mighty in pulling down the strongholds of Satan and the lifting up of the Church to a higher alt.i.tude of spirituality and a broader gauge of moral force. Of an enthusiastic temperament and with strong revivalistic proclivities, the Rev. Matthew Mitch.e.l.l was remarkably successful, especially among the village populations, in winning souls for Christ. He was a young fellow, of somewhat prepossessing appearance, lithe, agile, and strong as an athlete. As both these worthy men will have to play an important part in this history, nothing further need to be said at present; I am much mistaken, however, if the reader does not find that they were both of them made of sterling stuff.

The small society of Methodists in Nestleton, numbering some five-and-twenty members, owed its origin to the love and labours of Old Adam Olliver. Many long years before, when the quaint old hedger was foreman on old George Houston's farm, Adam, with two or three fellow-servants, used to walk to Kesterton to the Sunday preaching.

Through the ministry of a grand old Boanerges of the early age they had found peace through believing, and for some time used to attend a cla.s.s-meeting held after the afternoon service for such outlying members as could not attend during the busy week days. One Sunday, after the quarterly tickets had been renewed by the superintendent minister, Adam plucked up courage to address him,--

"Ah wop you'll excuse ma, sor," said he, "bud we're desp'rate fain te get ya' te c.u.m te Nestleton. Meeast o' t' fooaks is nowt bud a parcel o' heeathens. There's neea spot for 'em te gan teea bud t' chotch, an'

t' parson drauns it oot like a b.u.mmle bee; summut at neeabody can mak'

neeather heead nor tayl on, an' t' Gospel nivver gets preeach'd frae yah yeear end te d' t' other.

"Well, but have you a place to preach in, Adam?" quoth the minister; "is there anybody who will take us in?"

"Why, there's d' green," said Adam, "neeabody'll molest uz there, unless it be t' oad gander, an' ah wop yo' weeant tohn tayl at him.

An' i' mucky weather yoo can hae mah hoose. Ah've axed Judy, an' sha'

sez 'at you can hev it an' welcome. It isn't mitch ov a spot, but it's az good az a lahtle fis.h.i.+n' booat, an' oor Sayviour preeached upo'

that monny a tahme; ah reckon 'at best sarmon 'at ivver was preeached was up ov a hill-sahd, an' the Lord gay another te n.o.bbut yah woman fre' t' steean wall ov a well. It isn't wheear yo' stand, bud what yo'

say 'at 'll wakken Nestleton up, and gi'd folks a teeaste o' t' Gospel trumpet. When will yo' c.u.m?"

Adam Olliver gained the day, and services were held on Nestleton Green and in Adam's cottage. Eventually the village was placed upon the plan, the local preachers were appointed on the Sunday evenings, Adam Olliver was made a leader of the cla.s.s, and from that day Methodism had kept a foothold in Nestleton. Nay, more than that, for Adam's cottage grew too small for the congregation, and the large kitchen of Gregory Houston was placed at their disposal. At the time of which we write, that good farmer and his family were all in church communion, and he, Adam Olliver, and Nathan Blyth, who was a popular and successful local preacher, were the props and pillars of the Nestleton Society.

It was a very inviting nest of rural piety. In their lowly services there was felt full often the presence and the power of G.o.d, and their mean and homely sanctuary was the palace of the King of Kings! Such little patches of evangelic life are happily common in Methodism. Her village triumphs have been amongst her greatest glories, and it is to be hoped that this Church, so remarkably owned of G.o.d in the rural districts, will never forget or neglect the rustic few, among whom its brightest trophies have been won, and from whom its n.o.blest agents have been obtained.

One Sunday, Philip Fuller was walking from the Rectory, whither he had been to dinner after the morning and only service at the parish church. The evening was calm and fine, so he prolonged his walk by making a detour round the highest part of the village, and was pa.s.sing Farmer Houston's gate just at the time that the little Methodist congregation had a.s.sembled for wors.h.i.+p. Philip, who was not aware of this arrangement, heard the hearty singing of a hundred voices, and in pure curiosity drew near the open door, for the weather was of the warmest, and listened to the strain,--

"Behold Him, all ye that pa.s.s by, The bleeding Prince of Life and Peace!

Come see, ye worms, your Maker die, And say, was ever grief like His?

Come feel with me His blood applied; My Lord, my Love, is crucified.

Is crucified for me and you, To bring us rebels back to G.o.d; Believe, believe the record true, Ye all are bought with Jesus' blood, Pardon for all flows from His side; My Lord, my Love, is crucified."

Philip was greatly struck, alike with the warmth and energy of the singers and the directly evangelical character of the hymn. During his residence at Oxford he had, at first, been half inclined to accept the almost infidel views which at that time were tacitly held by not a few of the tutors and even the clerics of that famous university. A candid perusal of the Scriptures, however, for he was a genuine seeker after truth, and an attendance on the ministry of a G.o.dly and effective clergyman, who had rallied round him the evangelical element of the various colleges, rendered Philip utterly dissatisfied with the loose tenets he had been accustomed to hear. When he left college he was the subject of unavowed but strong conviction as to the importance and necessity of experimental religion, but as yet was very much at sea as to the Gospel plan of salvation. Philip noiselessly entered the kitchen, and took an unnoticed place among the rural wors.h.i.+ppers.

Much to his surprise, he saw Nathan Blyth standing in the moveable pulpit, and, in obedience to his solemn invitation, "Let us pray!"

Philip knelt with the rest, while Natty, who knew from happy and long experience how to talk with G.o.d, led their devotions in an extempore prayer, the like of which he had never heard before. Nathan's sermon that night was founded on the text that stirred the heart and baffled the mind of the Ethiopian eunuch: "He was led as a sheep to the slaughter: and like a lamb dumb before his shearer, so opened he not his mouth:" and included the sable n.o.bleman's inquiry, "Of whom speaketh the prophet this? of himself, or of some other man?"

Of that "Other Man" Natty spoke as one who knew Him. He placed the atonement in a light so clear, and the love of the Atoner in a manner so impressive, that Philip found himself listening with a beating heart and a swimming eye. In plain, but powerful language, the speaker urged his hearers to accept the proffered gift of G.o.d. The congregation joined in singing that stirring hymn,--

"All ye that pa.s.s by, To Jesus draw nigh; To you is it nothing that Jesus should die?

Your ransom and peace, Your surety He is; Come see if there ever was sorrow like His."

Nathan Blyth called on "Brother Olliver" to engage in prayer. At the first Philip was inclined to be amused at the rude and rugged language in which the old man poured out his soul to G.o.d, but as he proceeded, bearing with him the subtle power and sympathy of a praying people, the listener was moved to wonder and to awe, and felt with Jacob, "Surely G.o.d is in this place and I knew it not." "Thoo knoas, Lord,"

said Adam Olliver, "'at we're all poor helpless sinners; but Thoo's a great Saviour, an' sum on uz ez felt Thi' pooer te seeave.