ELDER A.'S NEW YEAR'S SERMON.
By Agnes Mertin
It was the Sabbath before New Year's day, and the attendance had been unusually good at church. The sermon was all that could have been desired, and on the faces of not a few who were resting comfortably in their cushioned pews a self-satisfied expression was plainly seen. Suddenly a little rustle of surprise spread quickly through the congregation. It was just the slightest movement, as though each one were trying a little better to hear that which the pastor was saying, though it was only an announcement for that same evening. But who ever heard of such a thing as a sermon (for of course that was what it would be) on New Year's eve! What with the sleigh rides, and the parties that had been planned to watch the old year out, and all the preparations that would be made for the next day's festivities—why, surely, the good minister was very unreasonable to expect to call together many of his flock that evening. Elder A. noticed, and rightly interpreted the expression on the faces of so many of those before him, and gravely added with peculiar emphasis:— "Those who feel willing to sacrifice a part of the evening, I shall be glad to meet in the south parlor, as before announced, at half past seven." And then with a few words of prayer the congregation was dismissed. Evening came. Sleigh bells jingled merrily. Everybody seemed to be going somewhere, and everybody looked jolly and gay. A sleigh load of young people, most of them members of the church choir, drove by the church just as the sexton was lighting up. "Ladies and gentlemen," said one young man, trying with difficulty to stand on his feet as the sleigh was drawn swiftly along the street, "I move that we attend to duty's call first, and go to church; we can continue our ride afterward." A burst of derisive laughter was all that greeted this short speech, and then another one spoke up rather sharply:— "Nonsense, Fielding; there's no duty in it. There was no sense in the parson's appointing a meeting for to-night. I move, instead, that we keep away, and stick to our original plan for the evening. Let the old people, and those who are bound to be miserable and sad, have a meeting to themselves for once. They can do all the singing that's necessary without our help." Again more laughter, but this time the motion was unanimously accepted. Behind the little desk in the comfortable church parlor stood Elder A. His countenance had brightened very perceptibly as he came into the room and saw how many were gathered there—many more, indeed, than he had had any reason to expect. He opened his Bible and slowly read these words: "What shall I render unto the Lord for all his benefits unto me?" Then he spoke of the object of the meeting, giving as one reason his desire that they might for a time consider the goodness of God to them in the past year. It seemed to his congregation that their usually plain-spoken minister was becoming eloquent, so earnest did he become in recounting some of their blessings—the general ones—of health, of prosperity, the word of God, the privilege of worshiping in a free land, and many others, too numerous to mention. Again he repeated the words of his text, "What shall I render unto the Lord for all his benefits unto me?" following with an appeal, short, but with a fervency that might well have unlocked the heart of the closest. "How many of you," he asked, "have given a thought in this last week, as you have been enjoying these blessings of God, to the many unfortunate around you? I know that as a church we have rather prided ourselves in looking after the poor who are in our church, but what of those who are not? Do you know, my brothers, my sisters, that there are many in our little city, some of whom I have visited this last week, who, though hunger has not yet driven them to seek that aid given to the pauper, are now suffering, yes, this very night, for the common necessities of life? Shall we not deny ourselves a little of the pleasure of making costly presents and rich dinners for those of our friends who are enjoying like blessings with ourselves, and visit, yes, hunt out, some poorer brother and make glad and warm his heart? God has blessed us abundantly; have we not, each according as God has blessed, a thank offering to present before him to-night? What shall we render to the Lord for all his benefits to us?" But something was the matter. In spite of the pride felt in their pastor, in spite of the blessings enjoyed, the collection which was taken up was miserably small—only a few dollars. Their souls were satisfied, and their hearts were not moved in pity toward those who had not been similarly blessed. The pastor groaned aloud when, after his congregation had been dismissed, he took up the plate and counted the few pieces of silver it contained. He had the names of ten families whom he knew were actually suffering, and to whom he had promised aid the coming week. He had felt so confident that his church would respond nobly to this call, and now, what should he do? The sexton turned out the gas and departed, but the pastor heeded it not. His heart was burdened, alike for his own people and for those who were suffering, and he felt that he must be all alone with God. In the dim light which came from the lamp on the street corner, he mechanically turned the leaves of his Bible, and the words, "Rich and increased in goods," came from his lips. At a late hour he passed out of the church and quietly entered his own home next door. Back of Elder A.'s house, and almost within arm's reach of the south side of the church, was a small building containing only one room. It had originally been built for the church woodhouse, but it was soon found to be much too small a place in which to store the yearly supply of fuel, and another and larger one had been built behind it. At a small expense the little woodhouse had been fitted up for dwelling purposes and rented. This was the home of Uncle Bemus, an industrious old colored man, who, though somewhere along in his seventies, was still quite122spry and able to do a good deal of work. He was a very earnest Christian, always prompt in lending his presence to every meeting. But New Year's eve found him suffering from an attack of rheumatism, and, instead of going to the church, he early rolled himself up between the coarse woolen blankets of his bed. When the south parlor was lighted for evening service, the light coming through the frosted window glass of the church and into his little room, lent a soft radiance that was very interesting and comforting to the old man. He could almost imagine that he was in his usual place in the church after all. He listened to the hymn that was sung, the old familiar tune of which he had sung so many times in his younger days, and when the pastor began to speak, and Uncle Bemus found that he could hear quite distinctly all that was said, his joy found vent in a very audible, "Thank de good Lawd, I kin hear!" While Elder A. was recounting the blessings of God, a responsive chord was struck in at least one heart, and the old man's comments made aloud to himself were many and frequent. "Blessin's!" he exclaimed, "I don't know of anybody what has more than I has every day ob my life." And the longer the minister talked, the more the old man considered his blessings, until it seemed to him that his room was full of the blessing and light of God. The words, "What shall I render unto my God?" seemed printed on the wall before him. He kept repeating them over and over. "Who eber thought ob giving anything to de great Lawd?" he exclaimed. "But dat's Bible, shore 'nuff. And it's God's minister what just spoke 'em, and invitin' eberybody what had any blessin's to be bringin' an offerin' unto de Lawd." And now all was quiet, and the soft light was gone from the old man's room. In the church was Elder A., almost disheartened, pleading with God; near by, separated only by the two walls, was the simple old colored man, and he, too, was pleading with the Father. Uncle Bemus had only one child living, now a stout matron well along in years, and with a large family. Many years before, with her husband she had emigrated to the far West, and it had long been the dream of the old man to once more see "Rosalin and her chillun." Carefully he had saved every cent not actually needed for his own maintenance, until now his hoarded pile of money was nearly sufficient for his Western trip. As the words, which he now rendered, "What shall I give?" rang so persistently in his mind, he thought of his "visit money," as he called it. All thoughts of bodily pain gone, he clambered out of bed, lighted a candle, and partially dressed himself. Then, drawing from its hiding place his bag of savings, he emptied it on his bed. There was almost sixty dollars, part of it in paper money, the most of it in silver,—all representing his savings for years. Till late in the night the old man knelt there by his bed, talking first with himself, and then with the Lord. The thought of those who were suffering while he was enjoying so many blessings at last decided him, and with peaceful heart and countenance he again sought rest. New Year's morning dawned clear and beautiful. Elder A. had arisen with a determination to make known his want to a few business men of the city, men who had no connection whatever with religion, but whom he knew to be charitably inclined. He was just preparing to go out, when he heard a knock on his study door. Opening it, there stood Uncle Bemus holding tightly his precious bag. With a cheerful "Good-morning," he limped directly to the study table and turned the contents of his bag upon it. "There, Brudder A.," he exclaimed triumphantly pointing to the money, "there's my offerin' to de Lawd foh his benefits to me! 'Taint too late?" he queried, as he noticed the perplexed look on the minister's face. "Too late?—No, indeed, Uncle Bemus. But where did you get this? Isn't this what you have been saving for so long so that you might go to your daughter?" "Yes, brudder, but de Lawd's poor needs it wus. I lub my Lawd what has done so much fur me, an' I want him to hab this. And," he continued more slowly as he moved toward the door, "some day—I know I'll see Rosalin—yes, some day." The tears came to the eyes of the minister as he saw how his prayer had been answered, and realized what a sacrifice the faithful old man had made. As he watched him hobbling back to his home, these words involuntarily came to his lips, "Ye have done it unto Me."