Which Joe did accordingly.
Spring evenings are often cold and raw, and though this had been a fine day, warm even in the morning and meridian sunshine, the air chilled at sunset, the ground crisped, and ere dusk a hoar-frost was insidiously stealing over growing grass and unfolding bud. It whitened the pavement in front of Briarmains (Mr. Yorke’s residence), and made silent havoc among the tender plants in his garden and on the mossy level of his lawn. As to that great tree, strong-trunked and broad-armed, which guarded the gable nearest the road, it seemed to defy a spring-night frost to harm its still bare boughs, and so did the leafless grove of walnuttrees rising tall behind the house.
In the dusk of the moonless if starry night, lights from windows shone vividly. This was no dark or lonely scene, nor even a silent one. Briarmains stood near the highway. It was rather an old place, and had been built ere that highway was cut, and when a lane winding up through fields was the only path conducting to it. Briarfield lay scarce a mile off; its hum was heard, its glare distinctly seen. Briar Chapel, a large, new, raw Wesleyan place of worship, rose but a hundred yards distant; and as there was even now a prayer-meeting being held within its walls, the illumination of its windows cast a bright reflection on the road, while a hymn of a most extraordinary description, such as a very Quaker might feel himself moved by the spirit to dance to, roused cheerily all the echoes of the vicinage. The words were distinctly audible by snatches. Here is a quotation or two from different strains; for the singers passed jauntily from hymn to hymn and from tune to tune with an ease and buoyancy all their own:
This struggle for life,
This travail and pain,
This trembling and strife!
Plague, earthquake, and famine,
And tumult and war,
The wonderful coming
Of Jesus declare!
Is dreadful and loud,—
The warrior’s delight
Is slaughter and blood;
His foes overturning
Till all shall expire,—
And this is with burning,
And fuel, and fire!’
Here followed an interval of clamorous prayer, accompanied by fearful groans. A shout of ‘I’ve found liberty!’ ‘Doad o’ Bill’s has fun’ liberty!’ rung from the chapel, and out all the assembly broke again:
What a heaven of bliss!
How unspeakably happy am I!
Gather’d into the fold,
With Thy people enroll’d,
With Thy people to live and to die!
In employing a clod,
His tribute of glory to raise;
His standard to bear,
And with triumph declare
His unspeakable riches of grace!
That has deign’d to approve
And prosper the work of my hands,
With my pastoral crook
I went over the brook,
And behold I am spread into bands!
Hath begotten me these?
And inquire from what quarter they came;
My full heart it replies,
They are born from the skies,
And gives glory to God and the Lamb!’
The stanza which followed this, after another and longer interregnum of shouts, yells, ejaculations, frantic cries, agonized groans, seemed to cap the climax of noise and zeal.
Tophet gaped to take us in;
Mercy to our rescue flew,—
Broke the snare, and brought us through.
Undevour’d we still remain;
Pass secure the watery flood,
Hanging on the arm of God.
(Terrible, most distracting to the ear, was the strained shout in which the last stanza was given.)
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