Tithes of All We Possess.
By A. M. D.
Mr. Sherburne knitted his brows, gave a sigh, and leaned back in his chair. Mrs. Sherburne started from her knitting and her thoughts, and asked in a rather anxious tone:— "The same old story." There was a peculiar discouragement in his voice. "Another deficiency, as I supposed there would be, although it is larger than I imagined." "One hundred and twenty odd dollars, and the insurance; well, say one hundred and fifty. I made a good deal of allowance in the summer because so many people were away and the collections small. And now it is worse than then." She had been thinking before her husband spoke of what she would do this spring. She was tired of the green and gold in the library, so she would have a pretty drab moquette carpet with a blue border, chairs to match, the edges relieved with blue gimp, blue and pearl damask lambrequins over the white curtains, and blue picture cords. How lovely the room would look! "It's too bad," she said, as a blue and silvery haze floated through her brain. "I am willing and glad to contribute my share, always, but it is putting your hand in your pocket continually. Expenses must be lowered somehow." "And Mr. Murray's salary is only eighteen hundred. You can't very well begin there. We could not live on that." "No, we could not have the face to offer him any less," and Mr. Sherburne smiled over his perplexity. "There must be something wrong about the giving," said Mrs. Sherburne, thoughtfully. "It seems as if we were giving all the time. The congregation is small, to be sure, and it comes harder upon those who can afford to give—" "All can contribute something. I mean to have a good talk at the next meeting." "I suppose we give away a tenth, at least?" "O, more than that," returned Mrs. Sherburne, "and if every one did—" She rose, and opened a drawer in her dainty writing desk, taking therefrom an account book. "Walter," she said, with a smile, "just to be certain, let us count up our charities for the last year. Your income was—how much? At least you said you had invested three thousand outside of your business." "Yes, and we spent nearly five; call it eight thousand. But I am sure we have given away eight hundred." "I think we have," she returned slowly, "but let us be sure. We may owe a little," and she smiled archly. Some moments of silent calculation elapsed. The Sherburnes were quite methodical in their habits, and always kept an account of expenses. "Two hundred and thirty," said Mrs. Sherburne. "Three hundred and ninety-seven," said Mr. Sherburne. "Which only makes six hundred and twenty-seven," exclaimed Mrs. Sherburne in surprise. Mr. Sherburne laughed. "I would not have believed it," he declared, good naturedly, and yet a little annoyed. "So we owe enough to make up the deficiency. And yet it seems as if we had given continually the past year. There was one hundred toward the debt, and our yearly subscription of two hundred—" "We have not given it all to the church," said Mrs. Sherburne. "There have been some private charities. But you know we resolved when we were married to devote one tenth of our income to the Lord's work." "And I have never regretted it. My income was three thousand a year then, and though I am not rich, I feel that I have been prospered abundantly." "How much do you suppose our church expenses are in the course of the year?" she asked. "I can tell you very soon," turning to his books. "For pastor's salary, eighteen hundred, sexton, music and incidentals, five hundred, and a floating debt of four hundred has been paid. Three thousand a year would be ample, and allow us a little on the church debt." "There are in our congregation at least five men who have as large an income as you." "The Thompsons and the Wests are much richer. I have no real estate besides this house." "Granting that each one gave five hundred, which would still allow a margin for outside charities, you see there would be three thousand immediately." Mr. Sherburne glanced up in surprise. "Then there are five families who spend perhaps two thousand a year, and twenty perhaps who spend a thousand, and quite a number of poor people, though very few are destitute. So it seems to me that our regular church income ought to be between three and four thousand without any special effort." "What a calculator you are! I have never looked upon it quite in that light." "I had occasion to go to the laundry this afternoon while Mrs. Briggs was ironing. She asked me for some old clothes for a poor woman whose husband had died suddenly, and we had a little talk about giving. She said she had always considered it a sacred duty to lay by one tenth of all she earned, which she did every Saturday night. She earns from eight to ten dollars a week. That must be a great sacrifice to her, although it is a great pleasure as well. Her whole heart is in the cause. And the apostolic injunction was 'to lay by as we were prospered.' God has blessed us in every respect—in health, prosperity, happiness, and our two lovely children. Surely we can do this for the sake of Him who died while we were yet sinners. Even if it is for a poor, struggling church, it is for His sake as well." "A very good sermon, my dear," said Mr. Sherburne. "I am almost sorry that you cannot come to the meeting to-morrow night and explain the matter in this straightforward way. Why, if we church members, we Christian men and women, give one tenth even, which surely is not so wonderful a sum, there would be no want in our churches. We should not have to preach begging sermons, and there would be a surplus in the treasury for the calls of needy brethren. And if such a woman as Mrs. Briggs, with a hopeless invalid son, can do it, surely we more fortunate people ought." "And we surely mean to try," she said with a sweet smile, her face still flushed and her eyes brightly earnest. "I will never complain again until I have looked over my accounts," said Mr. Sherburne. "I am afraid our charities appear much larger to our partial eyes than they really are. Neither will I add what I ought to give with what I have given." Melrose was a pretty city suburb. The residents had found it rather inconvenient to go down town two or three times on a Sunday. By degrees, two or three chapels had been built. Mr. Sherburne and several of his brethren had resolved theirs should be free. Subscriptions paid monthly or quarterly, and collections at the principal services, the chief dependence. For two years there had been considerable enthusiasm, but now it was an old story. "You are always begging," one member after another said; and Mr. Sherburne being treasurer, sometimes found his task hard and ungracious. But he went to the meeting the next evening with a light heart, and a check for one hundred and seventy-five dollars in his pocket. The pastor's monthly stipend was due, the last quarter to the sexton, the insurance, part of an unpaid coal bill, and several small odds and ends. The brethren glanced at each other in dismay. "There must be some unpaid subscriptions," said one. "The collections have fallen off a good deal," said another. "It seems as if we were making special efforts all the time," said Mr. West, in a rather dissatisfied tone. Mr. Sherburne rose in his grave, quiet fashion. "Brethren," he began, "I have a few words to say on this subject. Last evening my wife and I had a little talk. We resolved long ago that, since the Jews gave a tenth of their substance toward religious purposes, we as Christians could do no less on principle. Even this, to my mind, does not cover the whole ground. It seldom compels us to cast into the Lord's treasury all that we have. Mrs. Sherburne and I were quite sure that we had kept our pledge the past year, but come to look over our accounts we were surprised to find quite a deficit on our side. I am very happy to make an offering of this amount to-night, which more than covers our indebtedness. And I am resolved never to complain of giving largely again until I have given more than a tenth of my income. Some of our poorest members do this, and I, for one, will not be shamed by the widow's two mites." Then he began to do up the separate parcels in envelopes and address them. There was a hush of silence in the room. "Brother Sherburne, I expected to help make up the deficiency," said Mr. West. "We must not allow you all the generosity." "Mine is just a debt," replied Mr. Sherburne. "I hardly call it generosity until we give more than we can afford, and feel the pinch somewhere." "You may add another hundred to my yearly subscription," exclaimed Mr. West. "And to mine," said Mr. Landor. "I confess that I have not come up to the Scriptural injunction in giving. It has sometimes seemed a hardship to be importuned for one thing and another, yet I have been prospered year after year. I have hardly thought of myself as a steward of the Lord." The ground being once broken, the brethren began to compare notes. They could not help but see that with an average of much less than one-tenth they would be in a very prosperous condition. It was a personal question with them, and it was not necessary to gauge their benevolence by what Brother Smith or Brother Brown did. They parted with a warm and heartfelt shake of the hand, each resolved to do a little better in the future. The church at Melrose prospered abundantly. One and another wondered what could be the secret of its success. They gave to the missionary cause, to their poorer brethren; little debts were wiped out, and salaries paid promptly. Yet the congregation was scarcely above the average of ordinary churches in pretty country towns, not to be called a poor church, but many with available resources fell into a languishing state. The pastor is disheartened, the brethren are always importuning. Is it right? If we felt the matter as obligatory upon us as the Jews did, would the cause drag wearily? If we laid by as we were prospered, thinking of our Lord and Master first, would it seem a heavy burden to us, and grievous to be borne? Ah, this fund, this tenth, would be the most precious part of our earnings, the most joyous of all our gifts. We should not lay it grudgingly upon the altar, and glance at it with longing eyes that strangely enough magnify it to twice the amount. For "the Lord loveth the cheerful giver."—A. M. D., in The Methodist.