In those old times the love-feast was not relegated to a brief half-hour after the evening service, when the jaded congregation is glad to get out of a spent and oppressive atmosphere, and when a careful examination of the tickets of membership, once a precious certificate of union with the Church, and a pa.s.sport to peculiar privileges of spiritual intercourse, is rendered all but impracticable. Then, the love-feast was held in the afternoon, each member showed his ticket at the door, and those who came without that token had to go to the minister for a written "permit." A few kindly and serious words spoken to the applicants often resulted in their decision for Christ, and their connection with His people.

At the Nestleton love-feast there was a full gathering of members, not only from the village, but the region round about. After singing and prayer, "Grace before Meat" was sung, and then the time-honoured custom of eating bread and drinking water together was observed. There are those, even among Methodists, who speak jocosely and slightingly of this usage, as one which "might be very well spared." They are degenerate children, who sadly underrate and misunderstand its meaning, and are recreant and disloyal to the spiritual mother that bore them. They forget that Methodism has for one of its main elements of strength, one of its most effective equipments for moral service, a principle and bond of brotherhood, a family relationship such as belongs to no other Christian Church on earth. The breaking of bread together is the sign and token of that moral freemasonry, and has done much to make the Methodists at home with each other, wherever their lot is cast. In an Australian hut or Indian bungalow, an American shanty or a Canadian log-house, on a South Sea Island or a Western prairie, as well as in an English rural homestead or an urban villa, two Methodist hearts, hitherto strangers, will beat in unison, and the hand-grasp that follows betokens a welding power in the Methodist polity which it will be stark, staring madness either to weaken or destroy. Besides this, the cultivation of the family bond by such means as the love-feast is an effective means of checking feuds, jealousies, coolnesses, and of re-twisting the brotherly bonds that friction with the outside world tends to loosen, to the serious loss of spiritual power. He is the most loyal Methodist who will heartily conserve all those rules and usages which tend to bind its world-wide const.i.tuency into one h.o.m.ogeneous, harmonious, and resistless whole.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ADAM OLLIVER ADDRESSING A MEETING.--_Page 287._]

"Grace after Meat" was sung, and then Mr. Clayton, who conducted the service, related his own experience of the saving and sustaining grace of G.o.d. Then the meeting was thrown open, and one after another stood up to tell "what G.o.d had done for their souls." There was no unwillingness to bear this G.o.dly witness. Young men and maidens, old men and children--youthful Samuels and aged Simeons--all spoke briefly and feelingly of their new-found or time-tested faith in Jesus. The old wept tears of joy to hear the lispings of the young, the young listened with interest to the "wisdom spoken by years." Once only was the current of grateful love and joy broken in upon by another kind of testimony. A good brother, who was sadly given to doubts and fears, and generally to an unsatisfactory and discontented view of things, spoke in such a sighing, doubting fashion as to cause quite a depressing influence to fall upon the meeting. He was instantly followed by Adam Olliver, who seemed to regard that sort of thing as a libel on the goodness and grace of G.o.d.

"Ah think," said he, "'at Brother Webster, 'at's just sitten doon, lives i' Grumblin'-street. Ah lived there mysen yance; but ah nivver had good 'ealth. T' air was bad, an' t' watter was bad, an' t' sun nivver shined frae Sunday mornin' te Setterday neet. Sae ah teeak a hoose i' Thenksgivin'-street, an' ivver since then things ez been quite different; t' air's feyn an' bracin', an' t' watter's pure and refreshin', an' t' sun shines like summer, an' t' bods sing, an' ah can't help bud sing mysen. Ah recommend Brother Webster te flit. It'll deea him a wolld o' good, an' ah sall be varry glad te get a new neighbour. Te-day ah thenk the Lord 'at me' peeace floas like a river; an' though ah's n.o.bbut a poor aud sheep 'at can't forage for mysen, an' isn't worth tentin', 'the Lord is mi' Shippard, an' ah sall nut want. He mak's me te lig doon i' green pasthers beside still watters, an' leads ma' i' t' paths ov righteousness for His neeame's seeak.'"

He was followed by Judith, who spoke in clear and joyous language of her calm repose on the bosom of infinite love, and of her hope of heaven, which she said was brighter than ever.

"I sall soon be there," said the ripe old saint. "I can't say as Jacob did to Pharaoh, 'few and evil have the days of the years of my life been,' for I seems to hev had nothing but mercies all t' way through.

As Adam says, we've lived i' Thanksgiving-street, an' though there's been trials and cares, they've all been swallowed up in a mult.i.tude of blessings. Now I feel that I's getten to be a poor totterin', old woman, but I'm going home to Jesus.

'There all the ship's company meet Who sailed with the Saviour beneath.'

I had a hope 'at I should see my lad again, that's been ower t' sea for monny a year. I fair pines sometimes to hev another look at his dear face. But he's in the Lord's hands. He's found t' pearl of great price, thank G.o.d, an' if I don't see him on earth, I shall meet him i'

heaven."

By-and-bye there rose up just behind her a tall, fine-looking man, about thirty years of age, whose brown and weather-beaten face was "bearded like the pard." To him Mr. Clayton had given a "permit" on the strength of a "note of removal," which, unlike many careless Methodists of nomadic habits, who neglect this duty and so slip out of Church fellowship, he had taken care to bring along with him.

"I'm glad to be here to-day," said he; "I have only just arrived in your beautiful little village, but as I know something of this religion, and have the love of G.o.d shed abroad in my heart, I cannot resist the opportunity of telling you what G.o.d has done for my soul. I was a wild, harum-scarum lad when I left my home to seek my fortunes in a foreign land. My parents were two as G.o.dly Christians as were to be found out of heaven; but the restraints of a Christian home, and the hum-drum life of a country village were more than my wilful spirit and roaming tendencies could bear, so I left home somewhat suddenly and much against my parents' will. A long, rough, and tedious voyage across the sea partly cured me of my roving desires, and I felt half inclined to come home again, especially as I had left my mother in tears and my father sad at heart. When I landed, however, I made up my mind not to go home until I had earned what it was worth my while to carry back. For a long time I led a wandering life, not bettering my condition, and I'm sorry to say not much better myself. At last the tide turned; I settled down and made money very fast. I could never forget, however, that the dear old folks at home were praying for me.

One night I was away on business, and found my way to a Methodist chapel, for there's plenty of them yonder as well as here. It was only a prayer-meeting, but I heard them sing the old hymns to the old tunes, so familiar to my boyhood, and when a plain-spoken old man began to pray it reminded me so much of my father's voice that I burst into tears. My wild and careless life condemned me all at once, and I could not help crying out, 'G.o.d be merciful to me a sinner!' They gathered round me and prayed with me. I was in an agony of trouble, and cried loudly for mercy, and at last the Lord spoke peace to my soul."

During the last two sentences the speaker's voice had faltered, and under the influence of deep feeling he spoke in tones such as can never be mistaken by a mother's ear. They fell like a revelation on Judith Olliver; rising from her seat she turned fully round, looked the speaker in the face, and crying, "It's mah Pete! mah bairn!" flung her arms around her boy, and buried her grey head upon his shoulder, murmuring the endearing words she used long years ago when she held him on her knee. The congregation rose upon their feet in strong excitement; Mr. Clayton, who was in the secret, brushed aside his tears, and Old Adam Olliver, pale and silent with excess of joy, walked across the chapel floor to greet his long absent son.

"Adam!" said the mother, smiling through her tears, "thoo said he would come, an' here he is!"

The old hedger took the hand of his stalwart son, and shook it a long while in an eloquent silence, his face working, his lips quivering in his earnest efforts to keep back the gush of feeling, but all in vain, it would come; throwing himself up on his boy's brawny breast, he burst into tears of joy. Recovering himself, he said,--

"G.o.d bless tha', mah lad! G.o.d bless tha'!" Then lifting up his hands, he said, amid the hush which waited on his words, "'Noo, Lord, lettest Thoo Thi' sarvant depayt i' peeace, for me ees hae seen Thi'

salvaytion!"

Mr. Clayton gave out the "Doxology," which was sung as only they can sing who feel every word of it. He offered an earnest thanksgiving for the wanderer's safe return, and commended the people to the Divine keeping, and so ended the memorable love-feast which is remembered and spoken of in Nestleton to this day.

Farmer Houston was standing by the door to welcome Pete, and to congratulate his parents on their boy's return.

"Maister," said Old Adam, "you see Pete was i' t' 'pattern' all t'

tahme, an' we didn't knoa; 'This is the Lord's deein', an' it's marvillous i' wer ees.'"

CHAPTER XLI.

THE REVOLUTION IN MIDDEN HARBOUR.

"O happy home! where man and wife in heart, In faith and hope are one, That neither life nor death can part The holy union here begun.

O happy home! where little voices Their glad hosannas love to raise; And childhood's lisping tongue rejoices To bring new songs of love and praise."

_Spitta._

Amongst all the good people of Nestleton and its environs there was none who entertained a more grateful love to the fair young mistress of Waverdale Hall than Old Kasper Crabtree, to whom she had been so gentle a nurse, and by whom he had been brought into possession of the Gospel hope. Soon after the return of Philip and Lucy from their wedding trip, and when they had fairly settled down among the villagers, in the midst of whom their lives were to be spent "in giving and receiving good," they received a message from the old man requesting an early visit. He was seriously ill, and desired, with their permission, to put into their hands a solemn and important trust. His request was promptly responded to. The old man's face lighted up with pleasure at the sight of Lucy, and it was with equal pleasure that she heard his testimony of peace with G.o.d and hope of heaven.

"And now," said he, "my end is near, and I wish to unburden myself of a trouble which has lately distressed me a good deal. You know that I'm a solitary old man, without relatives, near or distant. I am anxious to put what little fortune I have inherited and acc.u.mulated, in trust for the thorough renovation of Midden Harbour. The miserable houses, the want of drainage, and the generally dilapidated and uncleanly condition of my property there, makes it all but impossible for the poor tenants to improve much in morality and decency. I want to ask you if you will kindly take charge of this work, and expend such monies as I shall devote to that purpose in carrying out a radical improvement of the place."

To this his hearers willingly consented, heartily approving of his design.

"Now," said he, "I can die in peace. The result of my shameful neglect you will undo, and repair the consequences of my selfish indifference."

Philip prayed with him; he and Lucy bade him good-bye, and in a few days the old man pa.s.sed away, rejoicing in the sure and certain hope of eternal life. When his will came to be read it was discovered that Kasper Crabtree had left all he possessed, absolutely and without condition, to Lucy Fuller, "in grateful acknowledgment," said the will, "of my eternal debt of grat.i.tude to her, and in full confidence that it will be well employed for the good of those I have too much neglected, and for the glory of G.o.d."

The reformation of Midden Harbour was a congenial task to Philip and his wife. One after the other the old ricketty cottages were pulled down and others built, healthy, comfortable, and commodious. The place was effectively drained, gardens were laid out, an abundance of trees and shrubs were planted, the pathways were paved, and the whole appearance of the place was so thoroughly revolutionised as to have lost its ident.i.ty. The inhabitants, most of whom were members of the Methodist society, drew up a round robin, and presented it to their new landlord, with a unanimous request that the old name, once sufficiently descriptive of its unsavoury condition, should be changed for some other which should be more in harmony with the new and happy condition of things. It was some time before its youthful owners could hit upon a satisfactory t.i.tle; at last they decided to call it Kasper Grove, and so to hand down to posterity the name of the old man to whom it was indebted for its transformation. Midden Harbour was defunct, swept out of existence, but Kasper Grove continues to this day, and holds a place among the lions of Nestleton quite as attractive as the ancient abbey or Saint Madge's Well.

My story now draws nigh to a conclusion, but I must give my readers just a final glimpse at the princ.i.p.al actors in the village history I have tried to chronicle.

Nathan Blyth transferred his business to a son of Jabez Hepton, who had been taught his handicraft by Nathan himself, and was said to possess much of the skill and cunning for which his master had long been famous, and which had brought so much of profit, that in Nathan's prudent hands, it had made him independent of the anvil. That good man was able to retire on a comfortable competency and to devote his time to tending the olive plants that soon began to grow round Lucy's table, to active evangelic service in the Kesterton Circuit, for as a preacher he was in great request, and to give pleasure and delight to the old squire, who found in him an intelligent and congenial companion, well read in that sacred lore which was now Squire Fuller's favourite study. Nathan retained his old house, in which also Harry Hepton and his young wife resided and cared for his creature comforts.

He didn't spend much time there, as may be well imagined, but still, like a wise man, he kept his household goods around him, and lived as happily as most mortals may. Though he had forsaken the anvil's musical clink, he did not, by any means, give up singing. His grand tenor voice, mingling with Lucy's musical treble and the tones of the piano, out of which her magic fingers evolved sweetest harmonies, formed an unfailing attraction to the happy inmates of Waverdale Hall.

The old squire continued hale and hearty and it may be safely said that he never enjoyed life as much as now. His lonely habits were all broken in upon under the new _regime_. The library was still a favourite resort, but Lucy was there with her wool-work or other dainty task, and Philip or his father read for their mutual delectation. By-and-bye, the squire developed quite a romping tendency, and the youthful scions of the house of Fuller were in a fair way of being spoiled by "Grandy," who in their society renewed his youth. His lines were cast in pleasant places, and his grat.i.tude to G.o.d found increasing expression in his kindly visits to the villagers and his unflagging interest in everything that pertained to the cause of Christ.

Philip himself was speedily elevated to the dignity of a county magistrate, and, to what he regarded as even a higher honour, the position of a local preacher on the Kesterton plan. He was beloved and esteemed by all whose lot was cast within the circle of his wide-spread influence, and was universally respected throughout the Riding. As for Lucy, I need scarcely say that she dove-tailed into her new position like one to the manner born, and all that this life can give of peace and happiness was enjoyed in connection with a piety and a Christian service, which will give mellow memories to Waverdale as long as its sylvan glories shall unfold their beauties beneath the breath of returning spring.

Old Adam Olliver and Judith, blest and happy, lived with Pete, whose Transatlantic gains sufficed for more than all their wants. He embarked in the corn trade, and soon gained for himself a connection that promised to be even more lucrative than the employment he had left beyond the sea, when he was drawn homeward by the magic of his mother's prayers. He soon gave a convincing proof of his good sense by selecting for a wife the fair and gentle Mary Morris, who was as good a daughter to Judith and Old Adam as she had been to her ailing mother, and so the declining years of the dear old couple were spent in comfort and in peace.

Piggy Morris, under the influence of the new life which had dawned on him in Midden Harbour, forsook for ever the bar of the Green Dragon and the drinking habits which had been the bane of his life. His was a thorough regeneration, and his hearty activities in connection with the Methodist Church were only equalled by the vigour with which he turned his keen business abilities to the best account as a cattle dealer. He became known in this character through all East Yorkshire, and by his rapidly-increasing gains speedily surrounded his long-suffering but now happy "Sally," with a home atmosphere which wrought a wondrous change in her health and made her quite a bustling body, a happy and contented wife.

John Morris, to be known as Black Morris no more for ever, pursued his chosen occupation with much diligence. He studied hard, gaining wisdom and experience in his profession, until his services as a veterinary surgeon were in continual request. He found a fitting partner in Hannah Olliver. As fellow-labourers in the Sunday-school, their friendship had ripened into love, and that once dressy, but always good-looking, damsel made him a wife of whom he was justly proud.

Bob and d.i.c.k Morris, aided by Pete Olliver and Philip Fuller, were enabled to regain their father's farm at Eastthorpe. Here Mrs. Morris, senior, found unfailing pleasure in the oversight of the familiar dairy of her younger years. Jake Olliver mated with the maiden whom, despite the ghost of Nestleton Abbey, he had paid many a late visit to Cowley Priory to see. As the hind on Mr. Houston's wold farm, he began his married life under sunny auspices, and had no more of cloudy weather than usually falls to mortal lot.

Of the Houston family, I have little to say. That good man and his estimable wife lived to old age, and were succeeded by still another Houston; there is indeed every probability of the farm being handed down in connection with the Houston name for ever. It will interest my readers to know that the Rev. Matthew Mitch.e.l.l secured the lovely Grace in bonds which only death could loosen. Impelled by a spirit of zeal for his Master's cause, Mr. Mitch.e.l.l became a missionary, with the hearty good-will of his devoted wife. Should these village annals find acceptance, I may venture to tell the story of these two brave souls, and of the mission which they established beneath the mango and the palm.

The Rev. Theophilus Clayton, after a few more years spent in active work, became a supernumerary. He settled down at Nestleton in response to Philip Fuller's earnest invitation. That open-handed friend of the Lord's servants rendered his declining years exceptionally pleasant.

Methodism has yet much to learn in the way of just or generous treatment of those who have spent their lives and exhausted their strength in her service. The pitiful pittance she doles out to them often amounts to semi-starvation. This grudging policy reacts mischievously on the Church, in forcing feeble men to occupy the posts of onerous duty, and also in depriving the time-worn toiler of the quiet repose which would lengthen life and perpetuate, at least, a portion of their Church activities.

It would never do to forget so important a character as honest Balaam, who was now permitted, not only to taste, but positively to banquet on the sweets of leisure. He revelled on the sweet gra.s.s of Farmer Houston's paddock, and was fast getting demoralised under the influence of unmixed prosperity. Many a feed of corn, many a luscious cabbage or succulent carrot was given him by the younger branches of the Houston family, until like Jeshurun, he waxed fat and kicked, affording another sad example of the mischievous effects of the continuous smiles of fortune. At length, however, Adam Olliver, who rode him almost daily to Waverdale Park, was induced to lend him to the youngest squire of all, aged three years and a-half; and to his little brother who had attained the mature age of five years. A pair of panniers was provided, of superior basket work, cushioned and lined, and, under the charge of a youthful groom, the precious two were paraded round the park for a daily "const.i.tutional." Balaam, feeling the responsibility of his position, behaved himself as soberly and sedately as his office demanded. No sooner, however, was duty done than he felt at liberty to enjoy himself as his high spirits dictated.

He would then, as in former times, erect his tail, throw back his ears, give voice in such a fashion as to wake all the echoes of Thurston Wood, and gallop to and fro and round about in so comical a manner as to delight the youthful hope of Waverdale. If Adam Olliver happened to be present during one of these singular escapades, he would say,--

"Balaam! Balaam! diz tho' see a boggle?" Whereupon the excitable quadruped would lapse again into a quietude of deportment more in keeping with his years.

So the years went on; Time dealt gently with all and sundry, and Nestleton Magna and its villagers held on their way in rural simplicity, harmony, and peace.